RELIQ^UES /^ 

OF 

ROBERT BURNS; 

CONSISTING CHIEFLY OF 

ORIGINAL LETTERS, POEMS, 

AND 

CRITICAL OBSERVATIONS 

ON 

SCOTTISH g'O'lSfGS. 



COLLECTED AND PU:3LtSiBED BY 

R. H. CROMJSK.. '. 



Ordain'd to fire th' adoring Sons of Earth 
With every charm of wisdom and of worthy 
Or, warm with Fancy's energy to glow, 
And rival all but Shakspeare's name below. 

Pleasures of Hope. 



LONDON: 

PRINTED BY J. M'CREERY, 
FOR T. CADELL, AND W. DAVIES, STRAND. 

1808. 



^^■■.0- 



IN EXCHANOa 



PREFACE. 



On an occasion of such delicacy as the pre- 
senting to the world another volume of the writ- 
ino-s of Robert Burns, it becomes the Editor to 
account for his motives in undertaking the publi- 
cation, and to explain his reasons for giving it 
in the form in which it now appears. 

Whatever unhappiness the Poet was in his 
lifetime doomed to experience, few persons have 
been so fortunate in a biographer as Burns. A 
strong feeling of his excellencies, a perfect dis- 
crimination of his character, and a just allow- 
ance for his errors, are the distinsuishins; fea- 
tures in the work of Dr. Currie, who 

^' — With kind concern and skill has weav'd 
A silken web ; and ne'er shall fade 
Its colours ; gently has he laid 
The mantle o'er his sad distress, 
And GENIUS shall the texture bless." 



Tl 



le 



IV PREFACE. 

The same judgment and discretion which dic- 
tated the memoirs of the poet, presided also in 
the selection of his writings in the edition by Dr. 
Currie ; of which it may justly be said, that 
Avhilst no production of Burns could be with- 
drawn from it without diminishing its value, no- 
thing is there inserted which can render his 
works unworthy of the approbation of manly 
taste, or inconsistent with the delicacy of female 
virtue. 

But although no reduction can be made from 
the published works of the poet, it ivill, it is 
hoped, appear from the following pages, that 
much may be added to them, not unworthy of 
his genius and character. Of these pieces many 
had from various causes never occurred to the 
notice of Dr. Currie ; whilst others have been 
given by him in a more imperfect state than 
that in which they will now appear. — These 
productions of the Scottish Bard extend from his 
earliest to his latest years ; and may be consider- 
ed as the wild-flowers of his muse, which, in the 
luxuriant vigour of his fancy, he scattered as he 
passed along. They are the result of a most di- 
ligent search, in which I have used the utmost 
exertions; often walking to considerable dis- 
tances, and to obscure cottages in search of a 
wngle letter. Many of them have been obtained 

from 



PREFACE. V 

from the generous confidence and liberality of 
their possessors ; some from the hands of care- 
less indifference, insensible to their value; 
others were fast falling to decay, their very ex- 
istence almost forgotten, though glowing with 
the vital warmth which is diffused through every 
line that the hand of the immortal bard has ever 
traced. — In this pursuit I have followed the 
steps of the poet, from the humble Cottage in 
Ayrshire in which he was born, to the House in 
which he died at Dumfries. — I have visited the 
farm of Mossgiel where he resided at the period 
of his first publication; I have traversed the 
scenes by the Ayr, the Lugar, and the Doon. 
Sacred haunts ! 

" — Where first grim nature's visage hoar 
Struck his young eye;" 

— And have finally shared in the reverential 
feelings of his distinguished biographer.* oyer 

the 



* The above passage has a reference to a letter from 
Dr. Currie to Messrs. Cadell and Davies, which has been 
communicated to the Editor, and of which the following 
is an extract. 

June 13, 1804. 
" On my late excursion I visited Mrs. Bums at Dum- 
" fries. She continues to live in the house in which the 

" poet 



VI PREFACE. 

the hallowed spot where the ashes of the bard 
are deposited.'" 

It must not however be supposed that the pre- 
sent volume contains the whole, or nearly the 
whole of the writings of Burns, which have come 
under my eye, or fallen into my hands ; much 

less 



" poet died, and every thing about her bespoke decent 
*' competence, and even comfort. She shewed me the 
^* study and small library of her Husband nearly as he left 
" them. By ^very thing I hear she conducts herself 
" irreproachably. 

" From Mrs. Burns's house my Son and I went to the 
*' Church-yard at no great distance, to visit the grave of 
" the poet. As it is still uninscribed, we could not have 
*' found it, had not a person we met with in the Church- 
*' yard pointed it out. He told us he knew Burns well, 
" and that he (Burns) himself chose the spot in which he is 
'' buried. — His grave is on the north-east corner of the 
" Church-yard, which it fills up ; and at the side of the 
" grave of his two sons, Wallace and Maxwell, the first of 
" whom, a lad of great promise, died last year of a con- 
" sumption, the last immediately after his father. The 
" spot is well situated for a monument, for which there is 
" money collected, but the subscribers, I understand, can- 
" not agree as to a design." 

* On this little pilgrimage I was accompanied by Mr. 

James 



PREFACE. VU 

less have I thought it justifiable to reprint those 
exceptionable pieces, in prose and verse, which 
have been surreptitiously published, or errone- 
ously attributed to him, and which in every 
point of view ought to have been consigned to 
oblivion. Notwithstanding the vigour which 
characterizes all his productions, perhaps there 
is no author whose writings are so difficult to se- 
lect with a view to publication as Burns ; and 
the very strength and exuberance by which they 
are marked, are in no small degree the cause of 
this difficulty. Whatever was the object, or 
the idea, of the moment, he has delineated, or 
expressed it, with a force and a veracity that 
brings it before us in all its beauty, or all its de- 
formity. But the subjects of his pen were al- 
most as various as nature herself ; and hence it 
follows, that some of his compositions must be 
discarded, as inconsistent with that decorum 
which is due to the public at large. In his 
early years. Burns had imbibed a strong attach- 
ment 



James M^Clure, a man who by his punctuality, his integrity, 
his benevolence, and the uniform uprightness of his character, 
confers respectability on the humble situation of a letter- 
carrier. He was the constant and faithful friend of the 
poet, and since his death has been most active and suc- 
cessful in his endeavours to promote the interests of the 
family. 



Vlll PREFACE. 

ment to the unfortunate House of Stuart, which 
he seems to have cherished as a patriotic feeling ; 
and as whatever he felt, he felt strongly, his 
prejudices occasionally burst forth in his writ- 
ings ; and some compositions of his yet remain, 
the publication of which, although in these days 
perfectly harmless, might render the Editor ob- 
noxious to the letter, though not to the spirit of 
the law. If the affections of Burns were ardent, 
his animosities were scarcely less so ; and hence 
some of his pieces display a spirit of resentment, 
the result of the moment, which it would be un- 
just to his memory, as well as to the objects of 
his satire, to revive. These and various other 
causes, on which it would be tedious to dwell, 
have imposed difficulties upon me from which I 
have endeavoured to extricate myself according 
to the best of my judgment. If on the one hand, 
with the example of the former Editor before my 
eyes, I have rejected whatever I conceived might 
in any point of view be improper for the public 
eye, I have on the other hand, been anxious not 
to deprive the author, through too fastidious 
an apprehension of indecorum, of those pecu- 
liar marks, and that masculine freedom of 
thought and expression, which so strongly cha- 
racterize his works. Nor have I in this respect 
trusted wholly to my own judgment and feel- 
ings. Several persons, some of them most near- 

h 



PREFACE. IX 

ly connected by the ties of relationship with the 
poet, others distinguished by their literary at- 
tainments, and their well known admiration of 
his works, have also been consulted. But 
though I have availed myself of this assistance 
to the utmost of my power, and " though I 
" love the man, and do honour his memory on 
" this side idolatry as much as any," yet as on 
many occasions I must exercise my own judg- 
ment and discretion, I know not whether the 
warmth of my attachment to the poet and his 
productions, may not have led me to publish 
sentiments and pieces which w^ould have been 
better withheld, and even letters and poems, to 
which an ardent admiration of their author may 
have induced me to attach a fancied value and 
interest. I can however assure the reader, that 
whatever may be thought of the following col- 
lection, I have neither forgotten, nor been in- 
different to the apprehensions so strongly ex- 
pressed by Burns, in nearly his last moments; 
" that every scrap of his writing would be re- 
" vived against him to the injury of his future 
" reputation ; that letters and papers written 
*' with unguarded and improper freedom, and 
" which he earnestly wished to have buried in 
" oblivion, would be handed about by idle vanity 
" or malevolence, when no dread of his resent- 
" ment would restrain them, or prevent the cen- 



X PREFACE. 

'' sures of shrill-tongued malice, or the insidious 
'* sarcasms of envy, from pouring forth all their 
" venom to blast his fame.'"" On the contrary, 
I must be allowed to say, that if I am at all ac- 
curate in my estimate of the character and feel- 
ings of this extraordinary but eccentric genius, I 
have printed no one piece of his composition that 
he would have been ashamed to acknowledge, 
and that in this publication, I have been actuated 
only by an earnest desire of preserving such of 
the writings of Burns, and such only, as do 
honour to the poet's head, or to his heart ; or 
that are immediately or remotely connected with 
the circumstances of his life, or the develope- 
ment of his character. 

To one vvhose admiration of the bard was less 
ardent than mine, it might have occurred that 
some of his pieces, containing passages of great 
beauty, were rendered inadmissible merely by a 
single indelicate sentiment, or unguarded ex- 
pression, which it might be easy to alter, so as to 
preserve the whole. But from such a presump- 
tion as the substituting a word of my own in the 
place of that of the poet, (except in a very few in- 
stances of evident error) I have most religiously 

abstained ; 



* Burns's Works — Dr, Currie's Ed. v. i. p. 222. 



PREFACE. XI 

abstained ; and have in such cases rather chosen 
to omit the passage, or even to sacrifice the 
piece altogether, than attempt to remove its 
blemishes. If indeed 1 could ever have enter- 
tained any doubts as to the sacred duty of fide- 
lity to my author, the warning voice which yet 
seems to issue from the warm ashes of the poet 
himself, would effectually have deterred me. 
" To mangle the works of the poor bard, whose 
" tuneful voice is now mute for ever in the dark 
" and narrow house, — by Heaven, 'twould be sa- 
'' crileo;e l'"'"" 

My readers will however best judge how far 
my exertions are intitled to their approbation. 
As an apology for any defects of my own that 
may appear in this publication, I beg to observp 
that I am by profession an artist, and not an 
author. An earnest wish to possess a scrap of 
the hand-writing of Burns, originally led to the 
discovery of most of the papers that compose 
this volume. In the manner of laying them 
before the public I honestly declare that I have 
done my best ; and I trust I may fairly presume 
to hope that the man who has contributed to ex- 
tend the bounds of literature by adding another 

genuine 



Burns's Works, vol. iv. p. 63 



XU PREFACE. 

genuine volume to the writings of Robert Burns, 
has some claim on the gratitude of his country- 
men. On this occasion, I certainly feel some- 
thing of that sublime and heart-swelling gratifi- 
cation, which he experiences, who casts ano- 
ther stone on the Cairn of a great and la- 
mented chief. 



R. H. C. 



Newman Street, 
1st Nov. 1808. 



CONTENTS. 



LETTERS. 



Ne, Page 

I. To Mr. John Richmond, Edinburgh. 

Mossgiely Feb. 17, 1786. Giving an account 

of some of his compositions 1 

II. To Mr. M*W IE, Writer, Ayr. Mosspel, 

17 th April, 1786, with four copies oj his 
poems — Anxiety of a poet militant ... 3 

III. To Mons. James Smith, Mauchline. Mon- 
day morning J Mossgiel, 1786. — Voyage to 
the West Indies delayed. — Woman! ... 4 

IV". To Mr. David Brice. Mossgiel, June 12, 
1786. Approaching departure for Jamaica 
— About to commence Poet in print, and 
then to turn a wise man as fast as possible. 5 
V. To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. Mauchline. 
Edinburgh, Dec, 7, 1786. Rising fame — 
his birthday to be inserted in the almanacks 
— Patronage — Lord Glencairn — The Cale- 
donian Hunt 7 

VI. To Dr. M^Kenzie, Mauchhne. Wednesday 
morning. Inclosing him the Extempore verses 
on dining with Lord Daer — Character of 

Professor Diigald Stewart 9 

VII. To JohnBallantine, Esq. Banker, Ayr. 
Edinburgh, 13 Dec. 1786. A host of Pa- 
trons and Patronesses 10 

VIII. To Mr. William Chalmers, Writer, Ayr. 
Edinburgh, De^. 27, 1786. A humorous 
sally . IS 

IX. To John Ballantine, Esq. Edinburgh, 
Jan. 14, 1787. Mr. Millers offer of a 
farm at Dalswiiiton — Honors done him at a 
mason-lodge 15 



XIV 



CONTENTS. 



No. 



The 



Page 



21 



23 



X. To the same. With a copy of 

hanks o' honie Doon." 17 

XL To the same. Edinburgh, Feb. 0,4, 1787. 
Poems on the eve of publication — his 

phiz to be prefixed to them 19 

XII. To Mr. James Candlish, Student 
in Physic, College, Glasgow. Edin- 
burgh, March 9.1,11^1 . Return from 
Scepticism to Religion — still " the old 
man zdth his deeds J^ . . . . . .20 

XIII. To the same. Engages to assist John- 

son in the Scots Musical Museum. 

XIV. To William Creech, Esq. (of Edin- 

burgh) London. Selkirk, ISMay, 1787- 
His tour in Scotland. — " Willie's area." 
XV. To Mr. W. NicoL, Master of the High 
school, Edinburgh. Carlisle, June 1, 
1787. A journey on his mare Jenny 
Geddes — Humorous and in the Scottish 

dialect 27 

XVL To the Same. Mauchline, June 18, 
1787. Milton^s Satan his favourite — 
Misfortune of the poetic character — 
Estimate of his friends and acquaint- 
ance, 30 

XVII. To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. Stir- 
lijig, QSth Aug. 1787. Account of 

his rambles — A visit to Mr. H 's 

relations SS 

XVIII. Fragments. 

To Miss Margaret Chalmers, 
(now Mrs. Hay of Edinburgh) Sept, 
26, 1787. Fireside of Wisdom and 
Prudence — Admiration of the fair sex 37 

About a farm at Duinfries — compli- 
ment to Charlotte — " The banks of the 
Devon:' 39 

Edinburgh, Not;. 21, 1787. Hints to 
her and Charlotte about letter-zoriting 
—Affection — " The Wabster's grace?' 41 

Edinburgh, Dec. 12. 17 87. A bruised 
limb — and blue devils. Taken up with 
the bible 42 



CONTENTS. XV 

No. Page 

Edinburgh, Dec. 19, 1787. On the 
stilts, not poetic but oaken. — His 
motto J I DARE. His enemy mo\meme 44 

Edinburgh, March 14, 1787- Bargain 
for the Ellisland farm compleated. 
— Settling to business — Dr. Johnsons 
ohseT'imtion — Firmness 45 

Mauchline, 1th Jpril, 1788. Thanks 
for their introduction to Miss Kennedy 47 

Hairbreadth love-escapes — Forebod- 
ings ibid. 

Edinburgh, Sunday. Entered into the 
Excise — satisfied zvith himself ... 49 

XIX. To Miss M N. Saturday noon, St, 

James s Square, Newtown, Edinburgh. 
Compliments a Greenland eocpres- 

sion 50 

XX. ToMr. Robert AiNs LIE, Edinburgh. 
Edinburgh, Sunday morning, Nov. 23, 
1787. Declines a supper-engagement — 

Warm friendship 52 

XXI. To Miss Chalmers. Edinburgh Dec. 

1787. Reproaches her timidity respect- 
ing his poetic compliments — Remarks 
on Mr. 53 

XXJI. To Mr. MoRisON, Wright, Mauchhne. 
Ellisland, Jan.%%, 1788. A ludicrous 
specimen of the Bathos 56 

XXIII. To Mr. James Smith, Avon Print- 

field, Linlithgow. Mauchline, jlpiil 
28, 1788. Opens a twenty-four gun 
battery — Estimate of some, men's ideas 
— His recent marriage — " The begin- 
ning of sorrows." .57 

XXIV. To Mr. Robert Ainslie. Mauch- 

line, May 26, 1788. Finishing his 
excise instructions — Fortunate in his 
bargains — Conjugal happiness — Cha- 
racter of Mrs. B— — 59 

XXV. To the same. Ellisland, June 14, 

1788. Cares and anxieties^— Fancy and 
judgment — Hints about marriage . 61 



XVI 



CONTENTS. 



No. Page 

XXVI. To the same. Ellisland, June 30, 1 788. 
About a profile of a Mr. H — . Folly 
of talking about one's private affairs — 
t^lose of a letter of Bolingbroke to 
Dean Swift 64 

XXVII. To Mr. George Lockhart, Mer- 
chant, Glasgow. Mauchline, July 18, 
1788. The lovely Miss Bailies — Idea 
of an accomplished woman .... 68 
XXVIII. To Mr. BE13GO, Engraver, Edinburgh. 
Ellisland, Sept. 9, 1788. At a loss 
for social communication — Ellisland 
the elbow of existence — Ayrshire and 
his darling Jean . 70 

XXIX. To Miss Chalmers, Edinburgh. El- 
lisland, near Dumfries, Sept. l6, 1788. 
Bad harvest — Tender regrets — His 
marriage — Description of Mrs. B. — 
Her " woodnote wild'^ — Excise — Po- 
etical speculations — Friars Carse . . 72 

XXX. To Mrs. DUNLOP OF DUNLOP. 

Mauchline 27 f Sept. 3 788. Grateful 
for her criticisms — Verses on a mo- 
ther's loss of her son 79 

XXXI. To Mr. James Johnson, Edinburgh. 
Two more songs — Asks a fair subject 

for his muse 82 

XXXII. ToDr. Blacklock. Mauchline, Nov. 
15> 1788. Poetical labours — Grati- 
tude — the Doctor's benevolence . , 84 

XXXIII. To Mr. Robert Ainslie. Ellisland, 

Jan. 6, 1789. Compliments of the 
season — " Reason and resolve" — 87 
" Never to despair." 

XXXIV. To Mr. James Hamilton, Grocer, 

Glasgow. Ellisland, May 26, 1789. 
Sympathy in his misfortunes. ... 89 
XXXV. To Wm. Creech, Esq. Ellisland, 
May 30, 1789- Tooth ache personified 
— Another specimen of the Bathos. . QO 
XXXVI. To Mr. Robert Ainslie. Ellis- 
land, June 8, 1789. Overwhelmed 
zvith business — Serio7is counsel . . 92 



CONTENTS. 



X\l 



No. Poge 

XXXVII. To Capt. Kid DEL, Carse. Ellisland, 
Oct. 16, 1789. Poetic apprehensions 
— ^^ The Whistle'' — " Here are we 

met." ^c • . . 95 

XXXVIII. To the same. '' An old Song." . . 9B 
XXXIX. ToMr. Robert AiNSLiE. Ellisland^ 
Nov. 1, 1789. Appointed to an ex- 
cise division — droll harangue of a re- 
cruiting sergeant 99 

XL. To Mr. Peter Hill, Bookseller, 
Edinburgh. Ellisland, Feb. 2, 1790. 
His rascally occupation as Ganger 
mu§t serve as an apology for his si- 
lence — Asks after a celebrated lady of 
his ozvn name — Commissions some 
cheap books — Smollett's works on ac- 
count of their incomparable humour 
— Is nice only in the appearance of 
his Poets — must have Cowper's poems 

and a Family bible 101 

XLl. ToMr.W. NicoL. Ellisland, Feb. 
9, 1790. A dead mare — A theatrical 
company — " Peg Nicholson." . . 105 
XLII. To Mr. Murdoch, Teacher of 
French, London. Apology for neg- 
ligence — His brother William in Lon- 
don — Veneration for his father— Mr. 
Murdoch's interesting note. . . .109 

XLIIL ToCraufordTait, Esq. Edinburgh. 
Ellisland, Oct. 15, 1790. Introduces 
Mr. Wm. Duncan of Ayrshire — Gives 
his character, and recommends him to 
Mr. Tait's good offices — The power 
the fortunate enjoy to dispense happi- 
ness! — Repeats his request in the style 
of the world — His own condition. .111 

XLrV. To . Imprecations . . . . U6 

XLy. To Mr. Alexander Dalziel, 
Factor, Findlayston. Ellisland, March 
19, 1791. Enclosing a poem — La- 
ments the death of his noble patron, 
Lord Glen cairn — begs to know the 

day of his interment 118 

b 



XVIU 



No. 

XLTI. 



XLVIl. 

XLVIII. 
XLIX. 



L. 



LI, 



Lll. 
LIII. 



LIV. 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

ToMr.THOMAsSLOAN. Ellisland, 

Sept. 1, 1791 • Favourite quotations 

onfortitudeandperseverance — Roup, 

07' Auction, at which his dogs got drunk 

by attending the guests 120 

To Francis Grose, Esq. F. A. S. 
3792. Introducing Professor Du- , 
gald Stewart, whose characteristic 

features he pourtrays 123 

To the same. Three traditions — one 
of them the foundation of his Tarn 0' 

Shanter 1'25 

To R. Graham Esq. Fintray, Dec. 
1792. Pathetic exculpation of him- 
self from the charge of disaffection to 
Government — adjures Mr. G. to save 

him from impending ruin 130 

To Mr. T. Clarke, Edinburgh. 
July J 6, 1792. Humorous invi" 
tation to come and teach music in the 

country 132 

To Mrs. DuNLOP. Dec. 31, 1792. 
Serious Thoughts — Congratulates her 
on recovery from sickness — Suffers 
from occasional hard drinking — re- 
solves to leave it off— Excellent re- 
mark of Bloomfield — Forswears po^ 

litics. 133 

To Patrick Miller Esq. of Dal- 
swinton. April,} 7 9S. With a copy of 
a new edition of his poems — . . .137 
To John Francis Erskine, Esq. 
of Mar. Dumfries, VMh April, 1793. 
Gratitude for his patronage and 
friendship — escapes dismission from 
the excise — His sentiments on Con- 
stitution and Reform. Glori- 
ous assertion of his independence — A 

pathetic injunction. 138 

To Mr. Robert Ainslie. April 
26, 1793. The merry devil Spunkie 
his tutelar genius — Thoughts on 
scholarcraft — A tailor's progress in 
theology, 144 



CONTENTS. XIX 

No. Page 

LV. To Miss K . Force of beauty on 

Poets — A benediction 147 

LVI. To Lady Glencairn. Thanks for 
her letter — Gratitude — Advantages 
of his business in the excise — Turns 
his thoughts to the drama. . . .149 

LVII. To the Earl of Buchan. With a 

copy of^^ Bruce to his Troops." . .152 
LVIII. To the Earl of Glencairn. Re- 
membrance of his noble brother — 
Offers a copy of the new edition of 
his poems 153 

LIX. To Dr. An d er s o n . Declines assisting 
in his purposed publication — Curses 

the Excise. . .155 

LX. To Mrs. Dun LOP. Castle Douglas^ 
25 June, 1794. Ill health— Frag- 
ment of a poem on Liberty. . . .156 

LXL To Mr. James Johnson. Sends 
forty one songs for the fifth volume of 
the Museum — JLord Balmerino's dirk 
— Thanks for the Volunteer ballad . 158 

LXII. To Miss FoNTENELLE. Accompa- 
nying a prologue to be spoken on her 

ben^t. . 160 

LXIII. ToPeterMiller, Jun.Esq.of Dal- 
swinton. Declines an engagement in 
the Mor7iing Chronicle — offers occa- 
sional contributions, . . . . .161 
LXIV. To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. Dum- 
fries. Congratulations on returning 
health — Cautions against drinking — 
Father Auld 7.163 

LXV. To Mr. Samuel Clarke, Jun. Dum- 
fries. Sunday morning. Deep con- 
cern respecting a quarrel — a toast 
the cause of it l67 

LXVI. To Mr. Alexander Findlater, 
Supervisor of Excise, Dumfries. 
Schemes — Wishes — Hopes . . . .169 
LXVII. To the Editors of the Morning Chro- 
nicle. Dumfries. On misdeiivery 
of a paper containiiig the Marquis 
of ]LaJisdowne*s Speech 170 



XX CONTENTS. 

NO' Page 

LXVIII. To Col. W. Dunbar. Is still alive, 
fulfilling one great end of his exist- 
ence — Compliments of the season in 
the tardus own stile 173 

LXIX. To Mr. Heron, of Heron. 1794 or 
1795. Political Ballads — explains 
his situation and expectancies in the 
Excise, but disclaims any wish to hook 
his dependence on Mr, Heron^s bene- 
'Volence* • • . 174 

LXX. To the Right Hon. W. Pitt.' Ad- 
dress in behalf of the Scots Distillers 
— Speaks to him the language of 
truth — Reflections on the selfish na- 
ture of Man — Advises him to spurn 

, flattery — Hails Mr. P — 's passage 

to the Realms of Ruin — Compares 
Mr, P. to a wide spreading tree cut 
down by one from Heaven — Deplores, 
the ruin of Scotland, hurt by the 
excise laws — Ironical consolations 
for the hour of Adversity , . . .177 

LXXI. To the Magistrates of Dumfries. Pe- 
titions to be put on the footing of a 
real freeman as far as relates to the 
. privilege they enjoy of having their 
children educated gratis 182 

LXXIL To Mr. J amesJohnson, Edinburgh. 
Durnfries, 4th July, 179^ » Enquires 
after the Museum — Anxious and 
patheticforebodings on his approach- 
ing dissolution. " Hope the cordial 
oj the human heart" 184 



CONTENTS. xxi 

Pagt 

Strictures on Scottish Songs and Ballads . . . .187 
An account of James Tytler. (Note) .... 306 

Common-place Book, Journals, &c 315 

Fragments, Miscellaneous Remarks, &c. . • . . 355 



LETTERS FROM WILLIAM BURNS. 

No. 

I. To Mr. Robert Burns, EUisland. 

Longtown, 15, Feb. J 789 376 

II. To the same. Nezmastle, 24, Jan, 1790 . 379^ 

III. To the same. London, 21, March, 1790 381 

IV. To the same, from Mr. Murdoch, Lon- 

don, 14, Sept. 1 790, giving him an account 

of the death of his Brother William . .384 



POETRY. 
I. 

EPISTLES IN VERSE. , , 

I. To J. Lapraik, 13, Sept. 1785 . . .389 
II. To THE Rev. John M'Math, 17, Sept. 
1785, enclosing a copy of Holy Willie's 

Prayer 392 

III. To Gavin Hamilton, Esq Mauchline. 

Recommending a Boy . . . . . . 397 

rV. ToMr.M'ADAM,OF(jRIAGEN-GlLLAN. 

In answer to an obliging Letter he sent 
Burns in the commencement of his poetic 

career 399 

V. To Capt. Riddel, Glenriddel. 
EUisland — Extempore lines on returning 
a newspaper 401 

VI. To Mr. Maxwell, of Terraughty, 

on his birth-day 402 

VII. To a Lady, with a present of a pair 

of drinking glasses 404 



XXU CONTENTS. 



II. 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

Page 

Tragic Fragment « . . . . 40a 

The Vowels, a Tale 406 

A Character . 408 

Scots Prologue 409 

An extemporaneous effusion on being appointed to 

the Excise 411 

To the Owl .412 

On seeing the beautiful seat of Lord G . .415 

On the same . . . . . . , . . . . . •. ib. 

On the same ib. 

To the same on the Author being threatened with his 

resentment ib. 

The Dean of Faculty, a new Ballad • . . . .416 
Extempore in the Court of Session . . , . .418 

Verses to J. Ranken 419 

On hearing that there was falsehood in the Rev. Dr. 

B 's very looks 420 

On a School-master in Cleish Parish, Fife-shire . . ib. 

Address to General Dumourier 421 

Elegy on the year 178B, a Sketch . . . . . . 422 

Verses written under the Portrait of Fergusson the 

Poet 424 



CONTENTS. XXIU 

III. 

SONGS. 

Page 

Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires 427 

Ae fond kiss and then we sever, ........ 428 

Here's a health to them that's awa 429 

Now bank and brae are claith'd in green 431 

O how can I be blythe and glad 432 

Out over the Forth, I look to the north 434 

As I was a wand'ring ae morning in spring .... ib. 

ril ay ca' in by yon town 436 

First when Maggy was my care . 437 

Young Jockey was the blythest lad 438 

Farewel ye dungeons dark and strong 439 

Here's, a bottle and an honest friend . 440 

Ilk care and fear, when thou art near 441 

On Cessnock banks there lives a lass ....... 442 

Wae is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e 444 

Her flowing locks, the raven's wing 445 

To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains ..... 446 
The winter it is past, and the simmer comes at last . . ib. 

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine 447 

The Deil cam' fiddling thro' the town 448 

Powers celestial, whose protection 449 

The heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn . 450 

Young Peggy blooms our boniest lass 451 

Amang the trees where humming bees . . . . . . 453 



CORIIECTIONS. 

Page 26, line 7, for grinin' read girniu' 

37, I. 4, for Scarborough, r. Harrowgate 
136, note, for 1782, r. 1802 
160, I. 14, for insiduous, r. insidious 
y 211, I. i.1, for near, r. ne'er 
255, I. 15, dele been 
258, note, /or Presenter, r. Precentor 
292, I. 2 5, for are, r. art 
354, 1. 17, /or closes, r. close 



LETTERS, &c 



No. I. 
To Mr. JOHN RICHMOND, Edinburgh. 

Mosgiel, Feb. 17, 1786. • 
MY DEAR SIR, 

I HAVE not time at present to upbraid 
you for your silence and neglect; I shall only 
say I received yours with great pleasure. I have 
enclosed you a piece of rhyming ware for your 
perusal. I have been very busy with the muses 
since I saw you, and have composed, among se- 
veral others, The Ordination, a poem on Mr. 
M'Kinlay's being called to Kilmarnock ; Scotch 
Drink, a poem; The Cotters Saturclai/ J\'lght\ 
An Address to the Devil, 8cc. I have likewise 
compleated my poem on the Dogs, but have 
not shewn it to the w^orld. My chief patron 
now is Mr. Aiken in Ayr, who is pleased to ex- 
press great approbation of my works. Be so 

B good 



good as send me Fergusson, by Connel/^ and I 
will remit you the money. I have no news to ac- 
quaint you with about Mauchline, they are just 
going on in the old way. I have some very im- 
portant news with respect to myself, not the 
most agreeable, news that I am sure you cannot 
guess, but I shall give you the particulars an- 
other time. I am extremely happy with Smith ;+ 
he is the only friend I have now in Mauchline. 
I can scarcely forgive your long neglect of me, 
and I beg you will let me hear from you regular- 
ly by Connel. If you would act your part as a 
FRIEND, I am sure neither ^oo^ nor bad fortune 
should strange or alter me. Excuse haste, as I 
got yours but yesterday. — I am, 
My dear Sir, 
Yours, 
ROBT. BURNESS.J 

* Connel, the Mauchline carrier. 

t Mr. James Smith, then a shop-keeper in Mauchline. 
It was to this young man that Burns addressed one of his 
finest performances — " To J. S " beginning 

" Dear S , the sleest, paukie thief," 

He died in the West-Indies. 

J This is the only letter the Editor has met with in which 
the Poet adds the termination ess to his name, as his father 
and family had spelled it. 



No. II. 

To Mr. M*W IE, Writer, Ayr. 

Mosgiel, I7th Jpril, 1786. 

It is injuring some hearts, those hearts 
that elegantli/ bear the impression of the good 
Creator, to say to them you give them the trou- 
ble of obliging a friend ; for this reason, I only 
tell you that I gratify my own feelings in request- 
ing your friendly offices with respect to the in^ 
closed, because I know it will gratify yowri to as- 
sist me in it to the utmost of your power. 

I have sent you four copies, as I have no less 
than eight dozen, which is a great deal more 
than I shall ever need. 

Be sure to remember a poor poet militant in 
your prayers. He looks forward with fear and 
trembling to that, to him, important moment 
which stamps the die with — with — with, per- 
haps the eternal disgrace of, 
My dear Sir, 

Your humbled, 
afflicted, 
tormented 

ROBT. BURNS. 



No. III. 
To MoNS. JAMES SMITH, Mauchline. 

Monday/ Morning, Mosgiel, 1786. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

I WENT to Dr. Douglas yesterday fully 
resolved to take the opportunity of Capt. Smith ; 
but I found the Doctor with a Mr. and Mrs. 
White, both Jamaicans, and they have deranged 
my plans altogether. They assure him that to 
send me from Savannah la Mar to Port Antonio 
will cost my master, Charles Douglas, upwards 
of fifty pounds ; besides running the risk of 
throwing myself into a pleuritic fever in conse- 
quence of hard travelling in the sun. On these 
accounts, he refuses sending me with Smith, but 
a vessel sails from Greenock the first of Sept. 
right for the place of my destination. The Cap- 
tain of her is an intimate of Mr. Gavin Hamil- 
ton's, and as ^ood a fellow as heart could wish : 
v/ith him I am destined to go. Where I shall 
shelter, I know not, but I hope to weather the 
storm. Perish the drop of blood of mine that 

fears 



fears them ! I know their worst, and am prepar- 
ed to meet it.-— 

I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg, 
As lang's I dow. 

On Thursday morning, if you can muster as 
much self-denial as to be out of bed about seven 
o'clock, I shall see you as I ride through to 
Cumnock. After all, Heaven bless the sex I 
I feel there is still happiness for me among 
them. — 

O woman, lovely woman ! Heaven designed you 
To temper man! we had been ]brutes without you! 



No. IV. 

To Mr. DAVID BRICE. 

Mosgiel, June 12, 1786. 
DEAR BRICE, 

I RECEIVED your message by G. Pater- 
son, and as I am not very throng at present, I 
just write to let you know that there is such a 

worthless, 



worthless, rhyming reprobate, as your humble ser- 
vant, still in the land of the living, though I can 
scarcely say, in the place of hope. I have no 
news to tell you that will give me any pleasure 
to mention or you to hear. 

* iii ♦ * 

And now for a grand cure ; the ship is on her 
way home that is to take me out to Jamaica ; and 
then, farewel dear old Scotland, and farewel 
dear ungrateful Jean, for never, never will I see 
you more. 

You will have heard that I am going to com- 
mence Poei in print ; and to-morrow my works 
go to the press. I expect it will be a volume of 
about two hundred pages — it is just the last fool- 
ish action I intend to do ; and then turn a wise 
man ^sfast as possible. 

Believe me to be, 

Dear Brice, 
Your friend and well-wisher. 



No. 



No. V. 

To GAVIN HAMILTON, Esq. Mauchline, 

Edinburgh, Dec, 7, 1786. 
HONORED SIR, 

I HAVE paid every attention to your com- 
mands, but can only say what perhaps you 
will have heard before this reach you, that Muir- 
kirklands were bought by a John Gordon, W. S. 
but for whom I know not ; Mauchlands, Haugh 
Miln, Sec. by a Frederick Fotheringham, sup- 
posed to be for Ballochmyle Laird, and Adam- 
hill and Shawood were bought for Oswald's 
folks. — This is so imperfect an account, and will 
be so late ere it reach you, that were it not to 
discharge my conscience I would not trouble 
you with it; but after all my diligence I could 
make it no sooner nor better. 

For my own affairs, I am in a fair way of be- 
coming as eminent as Thomas a Kempis or John 
Bunyan ; and you may expect henceforth to see 
my birth-day inserted among the wonderful 
events, in the poor Robin's and Aberdeen Alma- 
nacks, along with the Black Monday, and the 
battle of Bothwel bridge. — My lord Glencairn 

and 



8. 

and the Dean of Faculty, Mr. H. Erskine, have 
taken me under their wing; and by all proba- 
bility I shall soon be the tenth worthy, and the 
eighth wise man of the world. Through my 
lord's influence it is inserted in the records of 
the Caledonian hunt, that they universally, one 
and all, subscribe for the 2d. edition. — My sub- 
scription bills come out to-morrow, and you 
shall have some of them next post. — I have met 
in Mr. Dalrymple, of Orangefield, what Solomon 
emphatically calls, " A friend that sticketh closer 
than a brother." — The w^armth with which he 
interests himself in my affairs is of the same en- 
thusiastic kind which you, Mr. Aiken, and the 
few patrons that took notice of my earlier poetic 
days, shewed for the poor unlucky devil of a 
poet. 

I always remember Mrs. Hamilton and Miss 
Kennedy in my poetic prayers, hut you both in 
prose and verse. 

May cauld ne'er catch you but * a hap. 
Nor hunger but in plenty's lap ! 
Amen I 

No. 



* " But" is frequently used for " without;" i. e. with- 
out cloathing, E. 



No. VI. 

To Dr. Mckenzie, Mauchline. 

Inclosing himjhe Extempore Verses on dining with 
Lord Daer. 

Wednesday Morning. 

DEAR SIR, 

I NEVER spent an afternoon among great 
folks with half that pleasure as when, in com- 
pany with you, I had the honor of paying my 
devoirs to that plain, honest, worthy man, the 
professor.* I would be delighted to see him 
perform acts of kindness and friendship, though 
I were not the object ; he does it with such a 
grace. I think his character, divided into ten 
parts, stands thus — four parts Socrates — four 
parts Nathaniel — and two parts Shakespeare's 
Brutus. 

The foregoing verses were really extempore, 
but a little corrected since. They may enter- 
tain you a little with the help of that partiality 

with 



* Professor Dugald Stewart. 



>:.=».-. 



10 

with which you are so good as favor the per- 
formances of 

Dear Sir, 

Your very humble Servant. 



No. VII. 
To JOHN BALLANTINE, Esq. Banker, Ayr. 
Edinburgh, I3th Dec, 1786. 
MY HONORED FRIEND, 

1 WOULD not write you till I could have 
it in my power to give you some account of my- 
self and my matters, which by the bye is often no 
easy task. — I arrived here on Tuesday was se'n- 
night and have suffered ever since I came to 
town with a miserable head-ache and stomach 
complaint, but am now a good deal better. — I 
have found a worthy warm friend in Mr. 
Dalrymple, of Orangefield, who introduced me 
to Lord Glencairn, a man whose worth and 
brotherly kindness to me, I shall remember when 
time shall be no more. — By his interest it is 
passed in the Caledonian hunt, and entered in 
their books, that they are to take each a copy of 

the 



11 

the second edition, for which they are to pay one 
guinea. — I have been introduced to a good many 
of the JYoblesse^ but my avowed patrons and pa- 
tronesses are, the Duchess of Gordon — The 
Countess of Glencairn, with my Lord, and 
Lady Betty* — The Dean of Faculty — Sir 
John Whitefoord. — I have likewise warm friends 
among the literati ; Professors Stewart, Blair, 
and Mr. M'Kenzie — the Man of feeling. — 
An unknown hand left ten guineas for the 
Aryshire bard with Mr. Sibbald, which I got. 
— I since have discovered my generous un- 
known friend to be Patrick Miller, Esq. brother 
to the Justice Clerk ; and drank a glass of claret 
with him by invitation at his own house yester^ 
night. I am nearly agreed with Creech to print 
my book, and I suppose I will begin on Monday. 
I will send a subscription bill or two, next post ; 
when I intend writing my first kind patron, Mr. 
Aiken. I saw his son to day and he is very 
well. 

Dugald Stewart, and some of my learned 
friends, put me in the periodical paper called 
the Lounger,t a copy of which I here enclose 

you 

* Lady Betty Cunningham. 

t The paper here alluded to, was written by Mr, 
M'Kenzie, the celebrated author of the Man of Feeling. 



12 

you — I was, sir, when I was first honored with 
your notice, too obscure ; now I tremble lest I 
should be ruined by being dragged too suddenly 
into the glare of polite and learned observa- 
tion. 

I shall certainly, my ever honored patron, 
write you an account of my every step ; and 
better health and more spirits may enable me to 
make it something better than this stupid matter 
of fact epistle. 

I have the honor to be, 

Good Sir, 

Your ever grateful huml)le servant. 



If any of my friends write me, my direction 
is, care of Mr. Creech, bookseller. 



13 



No. VIII.^^ 
To Mr. WILLIAM CHALMERS, 

WRITER, AYR. 

Edinburgh, Dec. 27, 1786. 
MY DEAR FRIEND, 

I CONFESS I have sinned the sin for which 
there is hardly any forgiveness — ingratitude to 
friendship — in not writing you sooner ; but of all 
men living, I had intended to send you an en- 
tertaining letter ; and by all the plodding, stupid 
powers, that in nodding, conceited majesty, pre- 
side over the dull routine of business — ^A hea- 
vily-solemn oath this I — I am, and have been, 
ever since I came to Edinburgh, as unfit to write 
a letter of humor, as to write a commentary on 
the Revelation of St. John the Divine, who was 
banished to the Isle of Patmos, by the cruel and 
bloody Domitian, son to Vespasian and brother 
to Titus, both emperors of Rome, and who was 
himself an emperor, and raised the second or 
third persecution, I forget which, against the 
Christians, and after throwing the said Apostle 

John 

* This letter is now presented entire. 



14 

John, brother to the Apostle James, commonly 
called James the greater, to distinguish him from 
another James, who was, on some account or 
other, known by the name of James the less, 
after throwing him into a caldron of boiling oil, 
from which he was miraculously preserved, he 
banished the poor son of Zebedee, to a desart 
island in the Archipelago, where he was gifted 
with the second sight, and saw as many wild 
beasts as I have seen since I came to Edinburgh ; 
which, a circumstance not very uncommon in 
story-telling, brings me back to where I set out* 

To make you some amends for what, before 
you reach this paragraph, you will have suffer- 
ed ; I enclose you two poems I have carded and 
spun since I past Glenbuck. 

One blank in the address to Edinburgh — 
*' Fair B ," is heavenly Miss Burnet, daugh- 
ter to Lord Monboddo, at whose house I have 
had the honor to be more than once. 

There has not been any thing nearly like her, 
in all the combinations of beauty, grace, and 
goodness, the Great Creator has formed, since 
Milton's Eve on the first day of her existence. 

My direction is — care of Andrew Bruce, mer- 
chant, Bridge-Street. 



15 



No. IX. 
To JOHN BALLANTINE, Esq. 

Edinburgh, Jan, 14, 1787. 

MY HONORED FRIEND, 

It gives me a secret comfort to observe 
in myself that I am not yet so far gone as Wil- 
lie Gaw's Skate, " past redemption ;"* for I have 
still this favorable symptom of grace, that when 
my conscience, as in the case of this letter, tells 
me I am leaving something undone that I ought 
to do, it teases me eternally till I do it. 

I am still " dark as was Chaos"' in respect to 
futurity. My generous friend, Mr. Patrick Mil- 
ler, has been talking with me about a lease of 
some farm or other in an estate called Dalswin- 
ton, which he has lately bought near Dumfries. 

Some 



* This is one of a great number of old saws that Bums, 
when a lad, had picked up from his mother, of which the 
good old woman had a vast collection. This venerable and 
most respectable person is still living, under the sheltering 
roof of her son Gilbert, on his farm, near Dumfries. E. 



16 

Some life-rented embittering recollections whis- 
per me that I will be happier any where than 
in my old neighbourhood, but Mr. Miller is no 
judge of land ; and though I dare say he means 
to favor me, yet he may give me, in his opi- 
nion an advantageous bargain, that may ruin me. 
I am to take a tour by Dumfries as I return, 
and have promised to meet Mr. Miller on his 
lands some time in May. 

I went to a Mason-lodge yesternight, where 
the most Worshipful-Grand Master Charters, 
and all the Grand-Lodge of Scotland visited. — 
The meeting was numerous and elegant ; all the 
different Lodges about town were present, in all 
their pomp. The Grand Master, who presided 
with great solemnity and honor to himself as a 
gentleman and Mason, among other general toasts 
gave '' Caledonia, and Caledonia's Bard, Bro- 
ther B— — ," which rung through the whole as- 
sembly with multiplied honors and repeated ac- 
clamations. As I had no idea such a thing 
would happen, I was downright thunder-struck, 
and trembling in every nerve made the best re- 
turn in my power. Just as I had finished, some 
of the grand officer^ said, so loud that I could 
hear, with a most comforting accent, *' Very 
well indeed !" which set me something to rights 
again. 

I have 



17 

I have to-day corrected my 152nd page. My 
best good wishes to Mr. Aiken. 
I am ever, 

Dear Sir, 
Your much indebted humble Servant. 



No. X. 
TO THE SAME. 

While here I sit, sad and solitary, by 
the side of a fire in a little country inn, and dry- 
ing my wet clothes, in pops a poor fellow of a 
sodger and tells me he is going to Ayr, By hea- 
vens I say I to myself, with a tide of good spirits 
which the magic of that sound, Auld Toon o' 
Ayr, conjured up, I will send my last song to 
Mr. Ballantine. — Here it is^ — 

Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon,* 

How can ye blume sae fair ; 
How can ye chant, ye little birds, 

And I sae fu' o' care I 

Thou'll 

* The reader will perceive that the measure of this copy 
of the '^ Banks o' bonie Doon," differs from that which is 

C already 



IS 



Thou'U break my heart thou bonie bird 
That sings upon the bough ; 

Thou minds me o' the happy days 
When my fause luve was true. 

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird 
That sings beside thy mate ; 

For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 
And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon, 
To see the wood-bine twine, 

And ilka brid sang o' its love, 
And sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu d a rose 

Frae aff its thorny tree. 
And my fause luver staw the rose, 

But left the thorn wi' me. 



No. 



already published. Burns was obliged to adapt his words 
to a particular air, and in so doing he lost much of the sim- 
plicity and beauty which the song possesses in its present 
state. E. 



19 



No. XL 
TO THE SAME. 

Edinburgh, Feb, 24, 1787. 
MY HONORED FRIEND, 

1 WILL soon be with you now m guid 
black prent ; in a week or ten days at farthest — I 
am obliged, against my own wish, to print sub- 
scribers' names, so if any of my Ayr friends have 
subscription bills, they must be sent in to Creech' 
directly. — I am getting my phiz done by an emi- 
nent engraver ; and if it can be ready in time, I 
will appear in my book looking like other ybo/i", 
to my title page.* 

I have the honor to be, 

Ever your grateful, Sec. 



No. 



* This portrait is engraved by Mr. Beugo, an artist 
who well merits the epithet bestowed on him by the poet, 
after a picture of Mr. Nasmyth, which he painted con 
amove, and liberally presented to Burns. This picture is 
of the cabinet size, and is now in the possession of Mr. 
Alex. Cunningham, of Edinburgh. E. 

CJ2 



5^ 



No. XII. 

To Mr. JAMES CANBLISH, 

Student in Physic, College, GlasgoWc 

Edinburgh, March 21, 1787. 

MY EVER DEAR OLD ACQ^UAINT ANCE, 

1 WAS equally surprised arid pleased at 
your letter; though 1 dare say you will think by 
my delaying so long to write to you, that I am so 
drowned in the intoxication of good fortune as 
to be indifferent to old and once dear con- 
nections. The truth is, I was determined to 
write a good letter, full of argument, amplifica- 
tion, erudition, and, as Bayes says, all that, I 
thought of it, and thought of it, but for my soul I 
cannot : and lest you should mistake the cause of 
my silence, I just sit down to tell you so. Don't 
give yourself credit though, that the strength of 
your logic scares me: the truth is, I never mean 
to meet you on that ground at all. You have 
shewn me one thing, which was to be demon- 
strated ; that strong pride of reasoning, with a 
little affectation of singularity, may mislead the 

best 



21 

« 
best of hearts. I, likewise, since you and I were 

first acquainted, in the pride of despising old 

women's stories, ventured in " the daring path 

Spinosa trod;" but experience of the weakness, 

not the strength, of human powers, made me glad 

to grasp at revealed religion,. 

I must stop, but dort't impute my brevity to a 
wrong cause. I am still, in the Apostle Paul's 
phrase, " The old man with his deeds" as when 
we were sporting about the lady thorn. I shall 
be four ^eeks here yet, at least; and so I shall 
expect to hear from you — welcome sense, weL 
come nonsense. 

I am, with the warmest sincerity, 

My dear old friend, 

Yours, 



No. XIIL 
TO THE SAMS. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, 

If once I were gone from this scene of 
hurry and dissipation, I promise myself the plea- 
sure 



2,2 

sure of that correspondence being renewed 
which has been so long broken. At present I 
have time for nothing. Dissipation and business 
engross every moment. I am engaged in assist- 
ing an honest Scots enthusiast,'" a friend of mine, 
who is an engraver, and has taken it into his 
head to publish a collection of all our songs set 
to music, of which the w ords and music are done 
by Scotsmen. This, you will easily guess, is an 
undertaking exactly to my taste. I have collect- 
ed, begged, borrowed, and stolen all the songs I 
could meet with. Pompey's Ghost, words and 
music, I beg from you immediately, to go into 
his second number: the first is already published. 
I shall shew you the first number when I see you 
in Glasgow, which will be in a fortnight or less. 
Do be so kind as send me the song in a day or 
two : you cannot imagine how much it will 
oblige me. 

Direct to me at Mr. W. Cruikshank's, St. James's Square, 
New Town, Edinburgh, 



No. 



* Johnson^ the publisher of the Scots Musical Museum. 



23 



No. XIV. 

To WILLIAM CREECH, Esq. (of Edinburgh,) 
London. 

Selkirk y V3ik May, 1787. 

MY HONORED FRIEND, 

The inclosed I have just wrote, nearly 
extempore, in a solitary Inn in Selkirk, after a 
miserable wet day's riding. — I have been over 
.most of East Lothian, Berwick, Roxburgh, and 
Selkirkshires ; and next week I begin a tour 
through the north of England. Yesterday I 
dined with Lady Hariot, sister to my noble pa- 
tron,* Ouem Deus conservet ! I would write till 
I would tire you as much with dull prose as I 
dare say by this time you are with wretched 
verse, but I am jaded to death; so, with a grate- 
ful farewell, 

I have the honor to be, 

Good Sir, yours sincerely. 

Auld 
* James, Earl of Glencairn. 



^4 

I. 

Auld chuckle Reekie's^ sair distrest, 
Down droops her ance wee'l burnish't crest, 
Nae joy her bonie buskit nest 

Can yield ava, 
Her darling bird that she loe's best 

Willie's awa \ 
II. 
O Willie was a witty wight, 
And had o' things an unco' slight ; 
Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight, 

And trig an' braw : 
But now they'll busk her like a fright 

Willie's awa I 
III. 
The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd. 
The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd ; 
They durst nae mair than he allow'd, 

That w^as a law : 
We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd, 

Willie's awa ! 

IV. 

Now gawkies, tawpie^, gowks and fools, 
Frae colleges and boarding schools, 
May sprout like simmer puddock-stools 

In glen or shaw ; 
He wha could brush them down to mools 

Willie's awa I 

V. The 

* Edinburgh. 



V. 
The breth'ren o' the Commerce-Chaumer* 
May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour ; 
He was a dictionar and grammar 

Amang them a'; 
I fear they'll now mak mony a stammer 

Willie's awa I 

VI. 

Nae mair we see his levee door 
Philosophers and Poets pour,f 
And toothy critics by the score 

In bloody raw I 
The adjutant o' a' the core 

Willie's awa! 

VII. 

Now worthy G*'"''**y's latin face, 
T^^'^^r's and G^^^^'^^-'s modest grace ; 
M'K--*-e, S*^'*n, such a brace 

As Rome ne'er saw ; 
They a' maun meet some ither place, 

Willie's awa ! 

Poor 

* The Chamber of Commerce of Edinburgh of which 
Mr. C. was Secretary. ' 

•f* Many literary gentlemen were accustomed to meet at 
Mr. C — 's house at breakfast. Burns often met with 
them there, when he called, and hence the name of 

Levee, 



^6 



VIII. 

Poor Burns — e'en Scotch drink canna quicken, 
\j. He cheeps like some bewildered chicken, 
^^Scar'd frae it's minnie and the cleckin 
By hoodie-craw ; 
Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin', 

Willie's awa I 

Now ev'ry sour-mou'd grihin' blellum, 
And Calvin's fock, are fit to fell him ; 
And self-conceited critic skellum 

His quill may draw ; 
He wha could brawlie ward their helium 

Willie's awa I 

X. 

up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped. 
And Eden scenes on chrystal Jed, 
And Ettrick banks now roaring red 

While tempests blaw ; 
But every joy and pleasure's fled 

Willie's awa ! 

XI. 

May I be slander's common speech ; 
A text for infamy to preach ; 
And lastly, streekit out to bleach 

In winter snaw ; 
When I forget thee I Willie Creech, 

Tho' far awa ! 

XII. May 



57 

XII. 

May never wicked fortune touzle him 1 
May never wicked men bamboozle him I 
Until a pow as auld's Methusalem ! 

He canty claw 1 
Then to the blessed, New Jerusalem 

Fleet wing awa ! 



No. XV. 
To Mr. W. NICOL, 

MASTER OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, EDINBURGH. 

Carlisle, June I, 1787. 
KIND, HONEST-HEARTED WILLIE. 

I'm sitten down here, after seven and 
forty miles ridin, e'en as forjesket and forniaw'd 
as a forfoughten cock, to gie you some notion 
o' my land lowper-like stravaguin sin the sorrow- 
fu' hour that I sheuk hands and parted wi' auld 
Reekie. 

My auld, ga'd gleyde o' a meere has huchy- 

all'd up hill and down brae, in Scotland and 

England, as teugh and birnie as a vera devil wi' 

me.'^ It's true, she's as poor's a sang-maker and 

as 

« 
* This mare was the Poet's favourite Jenny Geddes, 

of whom honourable and most humorous mention is made 

in a letter, inserted in Dr. Currie's edition, vol. i. p. l65. 

This 



^8 

as hard's a kirk, and tipper-taipers when she taks 
the gate, first like a lady's gentlewoman in a mi- 
nuwae, or a hen on a het girdle, but she's a 
yauld, poutherie Girran for a' that, and has a 
stomack like Willie Stalker's meere that wad hae 
disgeested tumbler-wheels, for she'll whip me aff 
her five stimparts o' the best aits at a down-sit- 
tin and ne'er fash her thumb. When ance her 
ringbanes and spavies, her crucks and cramps, 
are fairly soupl'd, she beets to, beets to, and ay 
the hindmost hour the tightest. I could wager 
her price to a thretty pennies that, for twa or 
three wooks ridin at fifty mile a day, the deil- 
sticket a five gallopers acqueesh Clyde and Whit- 
horn could cast saut on her tail, 

I hae 



This old and faithful servant of the Poet's was named by 
him, after the old woman, who in her zeal against religious 
innovation, threw a stool at the Dean of Edinburgh's head, 
when he attempted in 1637, to introduce the Scottish Litur- 
gy. " On Sunday, the twenty-third of July, the Dean of 
Edinburgh prepared to officiate in St. Giles's. The con- 
gregation continued quiet till the service began, when an old 
woman, impelled by sudden indignation, started up, and exr 
claiming aloud, 'Villain! dost thdu say the Mass at my lug !* 
threw the stool on which she had been sitting, at the Dean's 
head. A wild uproar commenced that instant. Tlie Ser- 
vice was interrupted. The women invaded the desk with 
execrations and outcries, and the Dean disengaged himself 
from his surplice to escape from their hands." — JLaings 
JJist. of Scotland, vol. iii. p. 122. E. 



29 

I hae dander'd owre a' the Kintra frae Dum- 
bar to Selcraig, and hae forgather'd wi' mony a 
^uid fallow, and monie a weelfar'd hizzie. I 
met wi' twa dink quines in particlar, ane o' them 
a sonsie, fine, fodgel lass, baith braw and bonie ; 
the tither was -a clean-shankit, straught, tight, 
weelfar'd winch, as blythe's a lintwhite on a 
ilowerie thorn, and as sweet and modest's a new 
blawn plumrose in a hazle shaw. They were 
baith bred to mainers by the beuk, and onie ane 
o' them had as muckle smeddum and rumbl- 
gumtion as the half o' some presby tries that 
you and I baith ken. They play'd me sik a dee- 
vil o' a shavie that I daur say if my harigals were 
turn'd out, ye wad see twa nicks i' the heart o' 
me like the mark o' a kail-whittle in a castock. 

I was gaun to write you a lang pystle, but, 
Gude forgie me, I gat mysel sae notouriously 
bitchify'd the day after kail-time that I can hard- 
ly stoiter but and ben. 

My best respecks to the guidwife and a' our 
common friens, especiall Mr. and Mrs. Cruik- 
shank and the honest guidman o' Jock's Lodge. 

I'll be in Dumfries the morn gif the beast be 
to the fore, and the branks bide hale. 

Gude be wi' you, Willie! 

Amen ! — 

No. 



30 



No. XVL 
TO THE SAME. 

Mauchline, June IS, 1787. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, 

J. AM now arrived safe in my native 
country, after a very agreeable jaunt, and have 
the pleasure to find all my friends well. I break- 
fasted with your gray-headed, reverend friend, 
Mr. Smith ; and was highly pleased both with 
the cordial welcome he gave me, and his most 
excellent appearance and sterling good sense. 

I have been with Mr. Miller at Dalswinton, 
and am to meet him again in August. From my 
view of the lands and his reception of my bard- 
ship, my hopes in that business are rather mend- 
ed ; but still they are but slender. 

lam quite charmed with Dumfries folks — Mr. 
Burnside, the clergyman, in particular, is a man 
whom I shall ever gratefully remember ; and his 
wife, Gude forgle me, I had almost broke the 
tenth commandment on her account. Simplicity, 
elegance, good sense, sweetness of disposition, 

2;ood 



31 

good humor, kind hospitality, are the constitu- 
ents of her manner and heart ; in short — but if 
I say one word more about her, I shall be di- 
rectly in love with her. 

I never, my friend, thought mankind very 
capable of any thing generous ; but the stateli- 
ness of the Patricians in Edinburgh, and the 
servility of my plebeian brethren, (who perhaps 
formerly eyed me askance,) since I returned 
home, have nearly put me out of conceit altoge- 
ther with my species. I have bought a pocket 
Milton which I carry perpetually about with me, 
in order to study the sentiments — the dauntless 
magnanimity ; the intrepid, unyielding inde- 
pendance, the desperate daring, and noble de- 
fiance of hardship, in that great personage, Sa- 
tan. 'Tis true, I have just now a little cash; 
but I am afraid the star that hitherto has shed its 
malignant, purpose-blasting rays full in my ze- 
nith ; that noxious planet so baneful in its influ- 
ences to the rhyming tribe, I much dread it is 
not yet beneath my horizon. — Misfortune dodges 
the path of human life ; the poetic mind finds 
itself miserably deranged in, and unfit for the 
walks of business ; add to all, that, thoughtless 
follies and hare-brained whims, like so many ig- 
nesfatui, eternally diverging from the right line 
of sober discretion, sparkle with step-bewitching 

blaze 



32 

blaze in the idly-gazing eyes of the poor heedless 
Bard, till, pop, " he falls like Lucifer, never to 
hope again." God grant this may be an unreal 
picture with respect to me ! but should it not, I 
have very little dependance on mankind. I will 
close my letter with this tribute my heart bids 
me pay you — the many ties of acquaintance and 
friendship which I have, or think I have in life, 
I have felt along the lines and, d — n them I they 
are almost all of them of such frail contexture, 
that I am sure they would not stand the breath of 
the least adverse breeze of fortune ; but from 
you, my ever dear sir, I look with confidence 
for the Apostolic love that shall wait on me 
" through good report and bad report" — the 
lov^ which Solomon einphatically says " Is 
strong as death." My compliments to Mrsr 
Nicol, and all the circle of our common friends. 

P. S. I shall be in Edinburgh about the latter 
end of July. 



No. 



33 



No. XVII. 
To GAVIN HAMILTON, Esg. 

Stirling, 2Sth Aug. 1787. 
MY DEAR SIR, 

Here am I on my way to Inverness. I 
have rambled over the rich, fertile carses of Fal- 
kirk and Stirling, and am delighted with their 
appearance : richly w aving crops of wheat, bar- 
ley, 8cc. but no harvest at all yet, except in one 
or two places, an old Wife's Ridge. — Yesterday 
morning I rode from this town up the mean- 
dring Devon's banks to pay my respects to some 
Ayrshire folks at Harvieston. After breakfast, 
we made a party to go and see the famous Cau- 
dron-linn, a remarkable cascade in the Devon, 
about five miles above Harvieston; and after 
spending one of the most pleasant days I ever 
had in my life, I returned to Stirling in the 
evening. They are a family. Sir, though I had 
not had any prior tie ; though they had not been 
the brother and sisters of a certain generous 
friend of mine, I would never forget them. I am 
told you have not seen them these several years, 

£ so 



34 

so you can have very little idea of what these 
young folks are now. Your brother is as tall as 
you are, but slender rather than otherwise ; and 
I have the satisfaction to inform you that he is 
getting the better of those consumptive symptoms 
which I suppose you know were threatening him. 
His make, and particularly his manner, resemble 
you, but he will still have a finer face. (I put 
in the word still, to please Mrs. Hamilton.) 
Good sense, modesty, and at the same time a 
just idea of that respect that man owes to man, 
and has a right in his turn to exact, are striking 
features in his character; and, what with me is 
the Alpha and the Omega, he has a heart might 
adorn the breast of a poet I Grace has a good 
figure and the look of health and chearfulness, 
but nothing else remarkable in her person. I 
scarcely ever saw so striking a likeness as is be- 
tween her and your little Beennie ; the mouth 
and chin particularly. She is reserved at first ; 
but as we grew better acquainted, I was delighted 
with the native frankness of her manner, and the 
sterling sense of her observation. Of Charlotte, 
I cannot speak in common terms of admiration; 
she is not only beautiful, but lovely. Her form 
is elegant ; her features not regular, but they have 
the smile of sweetness and the settled compla- 
cency of good nature in the highest degree ; and 
her complexion, now that she has happily re* 

covered 



35 

covered her wonted health, is equal to Miss 
Burnet's. After the exercise of our riding to 
the Falls, Charlotte was exactly Dr. Donne's 
mistress : 



Her pure and eloquent blood 



" Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, 
" That one would almost say her body thought." 

Her eyes are fascinating; at once expressive of 
good sense, tenderness, and a noble mind. 

I do not give you all this account, my good 
Sir, to flatter you. I mean it to reproach you. 
Such relations the first peer in the realm might 
own with pride ; then why do you not keep up 
more correspondence with these so amiable 
young folks ? I had a thousand questions to 
answer about you all : I had to describe the 
little ones with the minuteness of anatomy. 
They were highly delighted when I told them 
that John'^ was so good a boy, and so fine a 

D 2 scholar. 



* This is the " wee curlie Johnnie," mentioned in 
Burns's dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. To this gen- 
tleman, and every branch of the family^ the Editor is in- 
debted for much information respecting the poet, and 
very gratefully acknowledges the kindness shewn to 
himself. 



3^6 

scholar, and that Willie''' was going on still 
very pretty ; but I have it in commission to tell 
her from them that beauty is a poor silly bauble 
without she be good. Miss Chalmers I had left 
in Edinburgh, but I had the pleasure of meeting 
with Mrs. Chalmers, only Lady M'Kenzie being 
rather a little alarmingly ill of a sore-throat 
somewhat marr'd our enjoyment. 

I shall not be in Ayrshire for four weeks. My 
most respectful compliments to Mrs. Hamilton, 
Miss Kennedy, and Doctor M'Kenzie. I shall 
probably write him from some stage or other. 

I am ever. Sir, 

Yours most gratefully. 



* Now married to tlie Eev. John Tod, Minister of 
Mauchline. 



The 



37 



The following fragments are all that now exist of twelve 
or fourteen of the finest letters that Burns ever wrote. In 
an evil hour, the origin^s were thrown into the fire by the 
jate Mrs. Adair of ^c^iK>ro«gh ; the Charlotte so often 
mentioned in this correspondence, and the lady to whom 
" The Banks of the Devon" is addressed. ]E. 



No. XVIIL 

To Miss MARGARET CHALMERS, C^oa? Mrs, 

Hay, of Edinhiirgh.) 

Sept. 26, 1787. 

I SEND Ghaiiotte the first number of the 
«ongs ; 1 would not wait for the second number ; 
I hate delays in little marks of friendship, as I 
hate dissimulation in the lang-uao^e of the heart. 
I am determined to pay Charlotte a poetic com- 
pliment, if I could hit on some glorious old Scotch 
air, in number second.* You will see a small 
attempt on a shred of paper in the book; but 
though Dr. Blacklock commended it very high- 
ly, I am not just satisfied w ith it myself. I in- 
tend 



* Of the Scot's Musical Museum. 



38 

tend to make it description of some kind : the 
whining cant of love, except in real passion, and 
by a masterly hand, is to me as insufferable as 
the preaching cant of old Father Smeaton, Whig- 
minister at Kilmaurs. Darts, flames, cupids, 
loves, graces, and all that farrago, are just a 
Mauchline * * * * __a senseless rabble. 

I got an excellent poetic epistle yesternight 
from the old, venerable author of Tullochgorum, 
John of Badenyon, 8cc. I suppose you know he 
is a clergyman. It is by far the finest poetic 
compliment I ever got. I will send you a copy 
of it. 

I go on Thursday or Friday to Dumfries to wait 
on Mr. Miller about his farms — -Do tell that to 
Lady M'KenzIe, that she may give me credit for 
a little wisdom. "I wisdom dwell with pru- 
dence." What a blessed fire-side I How happy 
should I be to pass a winter evening under their 
venerable roof ! and smoke a pipe of tobacco, or 
drink water-gruel with them I What solemn, 
lengthened, laughter-quashing gravity of phiz I 
What sage remarks on the good-for-nothing sons 
and daughters of indiscretion and folly ! And 
what frugal lessons, as we straitened the fire-side 
circle, on the uses of the poker and tongs I 

Miss N. is very well, and begs to be remem- 
bered 



39 

bered in the old way to you. I used all my elo- 
quence, all the persuasive flourishes of the hand, 
and heart-melting modulation of periods in my 
power, to urge her out to Herveiston, but all in 
vain. My rhetoric seems quite to have lost its 
effect on the lovely half of mankind. I have 
seen the day — but that is a '' tale of other years.'* 
— In my conscience I believe that my heart has 
been so oft on fire that it is absolutely vitrified. 
I look on the sex with something like the admi- 
ration with which I regard the starry sky in a 
frosty December night. I admire the beauty «f 
the Creator's workmanship ; I am charmed with 
the wild but graceful eccentricity of their mo- 
tions, and— =wish them good night. I mean this 
with respect to a certain passion dontfai eii 
Vhonneur d'etre un miserable esclave : as for 
friendship, you and Charlotte have given me 
pleasure, permanent pleasure, " which the world 
cannot give, nor take away" I hope ; and which 
will outlast the heavens and the earth. 



Without date, 

1 HAVE been at Dumfries, and at one vi- 
sit more shall be decided about a farm in that 
country, I am rather hopeless in it; but as my 
brother is an excellent farmer, and is, besides, an 

exceedingly 



4u ^ 

exceedingly prudent, sober man, (qualities which 
are only a younger brother's fortune in our fa-' 
mily,) I am determined, if my Dumfries business 
fail me, to return into partnership with him, and 
at our leisure take another farm in the neigrh- 
bourhood. I assure you I look for high com- 
pliments from you and Charlotte on this very 
sage instance of my unfathomable, incomprehen- 
sible wisdom. Talking of Charlotte, I must tell 
her that I have to the best of my power, paid her 
a poetic compliment, now compleated. The air 
is admirable: true old Highland. It was the 
tune of a Gaelic song which an Inverness lady 
sung me when I was there ; and I was so charm- 
ed with it that I begged her to write me a set of it 
from her singing ; for it had never been set be- 
fore. I am fixed that it shall go in Johnson's 
next number; so Charlotte and you need not 
spend your precious time in contradicting me. I 
won't say the poetry is first-rate ; though I am 
convinced it is very well : and, what is not al- 
ways the case with compliments to ladies, it is 
not only sincere hut just. 

(Here follows the song of " the Banks of the 
Devon.'') 



Edinburgh, 



41 



Edinburgh^ Nov. 21, 1787. 

I HAVE one vexatious fault to the kind- 
ly-welcome, well filled sheet which I owe to your 
and Charlotte's goodness — it contains too much 
sense, sentiment, and good-spelling. It is im- 
possible that even you two, whom I declare to 
my God, I will give credit for any degree of ex- 
cellence the sex are capable of attaining, it is 
impossible you can go on to correspond at that 
rate ; so like those who, Shenstone says, retire 
because they have made a good speech, I shall 
after a few letters hear no more of you. I insist 
that you shall write whatever comes first: what 
you see, what you read, what you hear, what 
you admire, what you dislike, trifles, bagatelles, 
nonsense ; or to fill up a corner, e'en put doAvn a 
laugh at full length. Now none of your po- 
lite hints about flattery: I leave that to your 
lovers, if you have or~ shall have any ; though 
thank heaven I have found at last two girls who 
can be luxuriantly happy in their own minds and 
with one another, without that commonly ne- 
cessary appendage to female bliss, a lover. 

Charlotte and you are just two favorite resting 
places for my soul in her wanderings through 

the 



42 

the weary, thorny wilderness of this world — 
God knows I am ill-fitted for the struggle : I 
glory in being a Poet, and I want to be thought 
a wise man — I w^ould fondly be generous, and 
I wish to be rich. After all, I am afraid I am 
a lost subject. " Some folk hae a hantle o' fauts, 
an' I'm but a ne'er-do-weel." 

Afternoon, — To close the melancholy reflec- 
tions at the end of last sheet, I shall just add a 
piece of devotion commonly known in Carrick, 
by the title of the " Wabster's grace." 

*^ Some say we're thieves, and e'en sae are we, 
*' Some say we lie, and e'en sae do we ! 
*' Gude forgie us, and I hope sae will he ! 
— — " Up and to your looms, lads." 



Edinburgh, Dec, 12, 1787. 

1am here under the care of a surgeon, 
with a bruised limb extended on a cushion ; and 
the tints of my mind vying with the livid hor- 
ror preceding a midnight thunder-storm. A 
drunken coachman was the cause of the first, and 

incomparably 



4S 

incomparably the lightest evil; misfortune, bo- 
dily constitution, hell and myself, have formed a 
" Quadruple Alliance" to guarantee the other. 
I got my fall on Saturday, and am getting slowly 
better. 

I have taken tooth and nail to the bible, and 
am got through the five books of Moses, and 
halfway in Joshua. It is really a glorious book. 
I sent for my book-binder to-day, and ordered 
him to get me an octavo bible in sheets, the best 
paper and print in town ; and bind it with all 
the elegance of his craft. 

I would give my best song to my worst enemy, 
I mean the merit of making it, to have you and 
Charlotte by me. You are angelic creatures, and 
would pour oil and wine into my wounded spirit. 

I inclose you a proof copy of the " Banks of 
the Devon," which present with my best wishes 
to Charlotte. The " Ochel-hills," you shall 
probably have next week for yourself. None 
of your fine speeches ! 



Edinburgh, 



44 



Edinburgh, Dec. IQ, 1787.. 

1 BEGIN this letter in answer to yours of 
the 17 th current, which is not yet cold since I 
read it. The atmosphere of my soul is vastly 
clearer than when I wrote you last. For the 
first time, yesterday T crossed the room on 
crutches. It would do your heart good to see 
my hardship, not on my poetic^ but on my oaken 
stilts ; throwing my best leg with an air I and 
with as much hilarity in my gait and countenance, 
as a May frog leaping across the newly harrowed 
ridge, enjoying the fragrance of the refreshed 
earth after the long-expected shower I 



I can't say I am altogether at my ease when I 
see any where in my path, that meagre, squalid, 
famine-faced spectre, poverty; attended as he 
always is, by iron-fisted oppression, and leering 
contempt ; but I have sturdily withstood his buf- 
fetings many a hard-labored day already^ and 
still my motto is — I dare I My w^orst enemy is 
Moimeme, I lie so miserably open to the in- 
roads and incursions of a mischievous, light- 
armed, 



45 

armed, well-mounted banditti, under the ban- 
ners X)f imagination, whim, caprice, and passion ; 
and the heavy armed veteran regulars of wisdom, 
prudence and fore-thought, move so very, very 
slow, that I am almost in a state of perpetual 
warfare, and alas I frequent defeat. There are 
just two creatures that I would envy, a horse 
in his wild state traversing the forests of Asia, 
or an oyster on some of the desart shores of Eu- 
rope. The one has not a wish without enjoy- 
ment, the other has neither wish nor fear. 



Edinburgh, March 14, 1788. 

I KNOW, my ever dear friend, that you 
will be pleased with the news when I tell you, 
I have at last taken a lease of a farm. Yester- 
night I compleated a bargain with Mr. Miller, of 
Dalswinton, for the farm of Ellisland, on the 
banks of the Nith, between five and six miles 
above Dumfries. I begin at Whitsunday to 
build a house, drive lime, 8cc. and heaven be 
my help I for it will take a strong effort to bring 
my mind into the routine of business. I have 

discharged 



46 

discharged all the army of my former pursuits, 
fancies and pleasures ; a motley host I and have 
literally and strictly retained only the ideas of a 
few friends, which I have incorporated into a 
life-guard. I trust in Dr. Johnson's observation, 
*' Where much is attempted, something is done." 
Firmness both in sufferance and exertion, is a 
character I would wish to be thought to possess ; 
and have always despised the whining yelp of 
complaint, and the cowardly, feeble resolve. 



Poor Miss K. is ailing a good deal this winter, 
and begged me to remember her to you the first 
time I wrote you. Surely woman, amiable wo- 
man, is often made in vain! Too delicately 
formed for the rougher pursuits of ambition ; too 
noble for the dirt of avarice, and even too gentle 
for the rage of pleasure : formed indeed for and 
highly susceptible of enjoyment and rapture ; 
but that enjoyment, alas I almost wholly at the 
mercy of the caprice, malevolence, stupidity, or 
wickedness of an animal at all times compara- 
tively unfeeling, and often brutal. 



I AM 



47 



Mauchline, 1th April, 1788. 

I AM indebted to you and Miss Nimmo 
for letting me know Miss Kennedy. Strange ! 
how apt we are to indulge prejudices in our 
judgments of one another ! Even I, who pique 
myself on my skill in marking characters ; be- 
cause I am too proud of my character as a man, 
to be dazzled in my judgment for glaring wealth ; 
and too proud of my situation as a poor man 
to be biassed against squalid poverty ; I was 
unacquainted with Miss K^'s very uncommon 
worth. 

I am going on a good deal progressive in mon 
grand hut, the sober science of life. I have 
lately made some sacrifices for which, were I 
viva voce with you to paint the situation and 
recount the circumstances, you would applaud 
me. 



No date. 



JNow for that wayward, unfortunate 
thing, myself I have broke measures ^vith 

^ * * and 



4» 

* * * and last week I wrote him a frosty, keen 
letter. He replied in terms of chastisement, 
and promised me upon his honor that I should 
have the account on Monday ; but this is Tues- 
day, and yet I have not heard a word from him. 
God have mercy on me 1 a poor d-mned, in- 
cautious, duped, unfortunate fool ! The sport, 
the miserable victim, of rebellious pride ; hypo- 
chondriac imagination, agonizing sensibility, 
and bedlam passions I 

" I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to 
die J'' I had lately " a hairbreadth 'scape in 
th' imminent deadly breach" of love too. Thank 
my stars I got off heart-whole, " waur fleyd than 
hurt." — Interruption. 

I have this moment got a hint * * * * 
^ * * * * I fear I am something 
like — undone — but I hope for the best. Come, 
stubborn pride and unshrinking resolution i ac- 
company me through this, to me, miserable 
•world 1 You must not desert me I Your friend- 
ship I think I can count on, though I should 
date my letters from a marching regiment. Early 
in life, and all my life, I reckoned on a recruit- 
ing drum as my forlorn hope. Seriously though, 
life at present presents me with but a melancholy 
path : but — my limb will soon be sound, and I 
shall struggle on. 

Edinburgh, 



49 



Edinburgh, Sunday. 

1 o-MORROw, my dear madam, I leave 
Edinburgh. m 

j;; sjj Jjs * 

I have altered all my plans of future life. A 
farm that I could live in, I could not find; and 
indeed, after the necessary support my brother 
and the rest of the family required, I could not 
venture on farming in that style suitable to my 
feelings. You will condemn me for the next 
step I have taken. I have entered into the ex- 
cise. I stay iti the west about three weeks, and 
then return to Edinburgh for six weeks instruc« 
tions ; afterwards, for I get employ instantly, I 
go oil il plait a Dieu^ — et mon Roi. I have 
chosen this, my dear friend, after mature de- 
liberation. The question is not at what door of 
fortune's palace shall we enter in; but what 
doors does she open to us ? I was not likely to 
get any thing to do. I wanted tin but, which is ^ 
dangerous, an unhappy situation. I got this 
without any hanging on, or mortifying solicita- 
tion ; it is immediate bread, and though poor in 
comparison of the last eighteen months of my 
existence, 'tis luxury in comparison of all my 

K preceding 



50 



preceding life : besides, the commissioners are 
some of them my acquaintances, and all of them 
my firm friends. 



No. XIX. 
To Miss, M N. 

Saturday Noon, No, 2, St. James's Sqr» 
Newtown, Edinburgh* 

xIe r e have I sat, my Dear Madam, in the 
stony attitude of perplexed study for fifteen vex- 
atious minutes, my head askew, bending over the 
intended card ; my fixed eye insensible to the very 
light of day poured around j my pendulous 
goose-feather, loaded with ink, hanging over 
the future letter ; all for the important purpose 
of writing a complimentary card to accompany 
your trinket. 

Compliments is such a miserable Greenland 
expression ; lies at such a chilly polar distance 
from the torrid zone of my constitution, that I 
cannot, for the very soul of me, use it to any 

person 



51 

person for whom I have the twentieth part of the 
esteem, every one must have for you who knows 
you. 

As I leave town in three or four days, I can 
give myself the pleasure of calling for you only 
for a minute. Tuesday evening, sometime 
about seven, or after, I shall wait on you, for 
your farewell commands. 

The hinge of your box, I put into the hands 
of the proper Connoisseur. The broken glass, 
likewise, went under review ; but deliberative 
wisdom thought it would too much endanger the 
whole fabric, 

I am, Dear Madam, 

With all sincerity of Enthusiasm, 

/ Your very humble Servant. 



E 5 No. 



52 



No. XX. 
To Mr. ROBERT AINSLIE, Edinburgh. 

Edinburgh, Sunday Mornings 
Nov. 23, 1787. 

1 BEG, my dear Sir, you would not make 
any appointment to take us to Mr. Ainslie's to- 
night. On looking over my engagements, con- 
stitution, present state of my health, some little 
vexatious soul concerns, 8cc. I find I can't sup 
abroad to night. 

I shall be in to-day till one o'clock if you have 
u leisure hour. 

You will think it romantic when I tell you, 
that I find the idea of your friendship almost ne- 
cessary to my existence. — You assume a proper 
length of face in my bitter hours of blue-devilism, 
and you laugh fully up to my highest wishes at 
my good things. — I don't know upon the whole, 
if you are one of the first fellows in God's world, 
but you are so to me. I tell you this just now 
in the conviction that some inequalities in my 

temper 



53 



temper and manner may perhaps sometimes 
make you suspect that I am not so warmly as I 



ought to be 



Your friend. 



No. XXL 
To Miss CHALMERS. 

Edinburgh, Bee. 1787. 
MY DEAR MADAM, 

1 JUST now have read yours. The poe- 
tic compliments I pay cannot be misunderstood. 
They are neither of them so particular as to 
point you out to the world at large ; and the 
circle of your acquaintances will allow all I have 
said. Besides I have complimented you chiefly, 
almost solely, on your mental charms. Shall I 
be plain with you? I will ; so look to it. Per- 
sonal attractions, madam, you have much above 
par ; wit, understanding, and worth, you possess 
in the first class. This is a cursed flat way of 
telling you these truths, but let me hear no more 
pf your sheepish timidity. I know the world a 

little. 



54 

little. I know what they will say of my poems ; 
by second sight I suppose ; for I am seldom out 
in my conjectures ; and you may believe me, my 
dear madam, I would not run any risk of hurting 
you by an ill-judged compliment. I wish to 
show to the world, the odds between a poet's 
friends and those of simple prosemen. More 
for your information both the pieces go in. One 
of them, " Where braving all the winter's 
harms," is already set — the tune is Neil Gow's 
Lamejitation for Abercarny ; the other is to be 
set to an old Highland air in Daniel Dow's 
" collection of antient Scots music ;" the name 
is Ha a Chaillich air mo Dheidh. My treacher- 
ous memory has forgot every circumstance about 
Les Jncas, only I think you mentioned them as 

being in C 's possession. I shall ask him 

about it. I am afraid the song of " Somebody" 
will come too late — as I shall, for certain, leave 
town in a week for Ayrshire, and from that to 
Dumfries, but there my hopes are slender. I 
leave my direction in town, so any thing, 
wherever I am, will reach me. 

I saw your's to it is not too severe, 

nor did he take it amiss. On the contrary, like 
a w^hipt spaniel, he talks of being with you in the 

Christmas days. Mr. has given him the 

invitation, and he is determined to accept of it. 

O selfishness ! 



55 

O selfishness I lie owns in his sober moments, 
that from his own volatility of inclination, the 
circumstances in which he is situated and his 
knowledge of his father's disposition, — the 
whole affair is chimerical — yet he will gratify an 
idle penchant at the enormous, cruel expence 
of perhaps ruining the peace of the very woman 
for whom he professes the generous passion of 
love I He is a gentleman in his mind and man- 
ners, tant pis ! — He is a volatile school-boy : 
The heir of a man's fortune who well knows the 
value of two times two I 

Perdition seize them and their fortunes, before 

they should make the amiable, the lovely 

the derided object of their purse-proud con- 
tempt. 

I am doubly happy to hear of Mrs. • — 's 



recovery, because I really thought all was over 
with her. There are days of pleasure yet await- 
ing her. 

*^ As I cam in by Glenap 

*' I met with an aged woman ; 

" She bade me chear up my heart, 

^* For the best o' my days was comin/' 



No. 



56 



No. XXII. 
To Mr. MORISOJST,* 

WRIGHT, MAUCHLINE. 

Misland, Jan, 22, 1788. 
MY DEAR SIR, 

Necessity obliges me to go into my 
new house, even before it be plaistered. I will 
inhabit the one end until the other is finished. 
About three weeks more, I think, will at far- 
thest, be my time beyond which I cannot stay in 
this present house. If ever you wished to de- 
serve the blessing of him that was ready to pe- 
rish ; if ever you were in a situation that a little 
kindness would have rescued you from many 
evils; if ever you hope to find rest in future 
states of untried being; — get these matters of 
mine ready. My servant will be out in the be- 
ginning of next week for the clock. My com- 
pliments to Mrs. Morison. 

I am, after all my tribulation. 

Dear Sir, vours. 



f This letter refers to chairs, and other articles of furni- 
ture which the Poet had ordered. 



57 



No. XXIIL 
To Mr. JAMES SMITH, 

AVON PRINTFIELD, LINLITHGOW. 

Mmtchline, April 28, 1788. 

Ueware of your Strasburgh, my good 
Sir ! Look on this as the opening of a correspon- 
dence like the opening of a twenty-four gun 
battery I 

There is no understanding a man properly, 
without knowing something of his previous ideas 
(that is to say, if the man has any ideas ; for I 
know many who in the animal-muster, pass for 
men, that are the scanty masters of only one idea 
on any given subject, and by far the greatest part 
of your acquaintances and mine can barely boast 
of ideas, 1.25 — 1-5 — 1-75, or some such frac- 
tional matter) so to let you a little into the se- 
crets of my pericranium, there is, you must 
know, a certain clean-limbed, handsome, be- 
witching young hussy of your acquaintance, to 

whom 



5S 

whom I have lately and privately given a matri- 
monial title to my corpus. 

*■'' Bode a robe and wear it^ ' 

Says the wise old Scots adage I I hate to presage 
ill-luck ; and as my girl has been doubly kinder 
to me than even the best of women usually are 
to their partners of our sex, in similar circum- 
stances, I reckon on twelve times a brace of 
children against I celebrate my twelfth wedding 
day : these twenty-four will give me twenty-four 
gossippirigs, twenty-four christenings, (I mean 
one equal to two) and I hope by the blessiiig of 
the God of my fathers, to make them twenty-four 
dutiful children to their parents, twenty-four 
useful Members of Society, and twenty-four 
approven servants of their God | * - * * 
*' Light's heartsome," quo' the wife when she 
was stealing sheep. You see what a lamp 1 have 
hung up to lighten your paths, when you are 
idle enough to explore the combinations and 
relations of my ideas. 'Tis now as plain as a 
pike-stafF, why a twenty-four gun battery was a 
metaphor I could readily employ. 

Now for business. — I intend to present Mrs. 
Burns with a printed shawl, an article of which 
I dare say you have variety : 'tis my first present 

to 



5'9 

to her since I have irrevocably called her mine, 
and I have a kind of whimsical wish to get her 
the said first present from an old and much va- 
lued friend of hers and mine, a trusty T'rojan, 
on whose friendship I count myself possessed of 
a life-rent lease. 



Look on this letter as a " beginning of sor- 
rows ;" I'll write you till your eyes ache with 
reading nonsense. 

Mrs. Burns ('tis only her private designation) 
begs her best compliments to you. 



No. XXIV. 
To Mr. ROBERT AINSLIE. 

MamUine, May 26, 1788. 
MY DEAR FRIEND, 

I AM two kind letters in your debt, but 
I have been from home, and horridly busy buying 
and preparing for my farming business; over 

and 



60 



and above the plague of my Excise instructions, 
which this week will finish. 

" • 
As I flatter my wishes that I foresee many fu- 
ture years correspondence between us, 'tis foolish 
to talk of excusing dull epistles: a dull letter 
may be a very kind one. I have the pleasure to 
tell you that I have been extremely fortunate in all 
my buyings and bargainings hitherto; Mrs. Burns 
not excepted ; which title I now avow to the 
world. I am truly pleased with this last affair: 
it has indeed added to my anxieties for futurity, 
but it has given a stability to my mind and reso- 
lutions, unknown before ; and the poor girl has 
the most sacred enthusiasm of attachment to me, 
and has not a wish but to gratify my every idea 
of her deportment.* 

I am interrupted, 

Farewell ! my dear Sir. 

No. 



* A passage has been omitted in a letter to Mrs. Dun- 
lop. (8vo. Edition, Vol. II. No. LIII.) This passage 
places Mrs. Burns in so interesting a point of view th^t it 
must be preserved. 

*^ To jealousy or infidelity I am an equal stranger : My 
preservative from the first, is the most thorough conscious- 
ness of her sentiments of honor, and her attachment to me ; 

my 



61 



No. XXV. 

TO THE SAME. 

Ellisland, June 14, 1788. 

This is now the third day, my dearest 
Sir, that I have sojourned in these regions ; and 
during these three days you have occupied more 
of my thoughts than in three weeks preceding: 

In 



my antidote against the last, is my long and deep rooted af- 
fection for her. 

In housewife matters, of aptness to learn and activity to 
execute she is eminently mistress : and during my absence in 
Nithsdale^ she is regularly and constantly apprentice to my 
mother and sisters in their dairy and other rural business. 

The Muses must not be offended when I tell them, the 
concerns of my wife and family will, in my mind, always 
take the pas; but I assure ^em their ladyships will ever 
come next in place. 

You are right that a bachelor state would have insur- 
ed me more friends; but, from a cause you will easily 
guess, conscious peace in the enjoyment of my own mind, 
and unmistrusting confidence in approaching my God^ 
would seldom have been of the number * * * ** 



62 

In Ayrshire I have several variations of friend- 
ship's compass, here it points invariably to the 
pole. — My farm gives me a good many uncouth 
cares and anxieties, but I hate the language of 
complaint. Job, or some one of his friends, 
says well — " Why should a living man com- 
plain r 

I have lately been much mortified with con- 
templating an unlucky imperfection in the very 
framing and construction of my soul ; namely, 
a blundering inaccuracy of her olfactory or- 
gans in hitting the scent of craft or design in my 
fellow creatures. I do not mean any compli- 
ment to my ingenuousness, or to hint that the 
defect is in consequence of the unsuspicious 
simplicity of conscious truth and honor : I take 
it to be, in some way or other, an imperfection 
in the mental sight j or, metaphor apart, some 
modification of dulness. In two or three small 
instances lately, I have been most shamefully 
out. 

I have all along, hitherto, in the warfare of 
life, been bred to arms among the light-horse — 
the piquet-guards of fancy ; a kind of Hussars 
and Highlanders of the Brain; but I am firmly 
resolved to sell out of these giddy battalions, 
who have no ideas of a battle but fighting the 

foe, 



foe, or of a siege but storming the town. Cost 
what it will, I am determined to buy in among 
the grave squadrons of heavy-armed thought, or 
the artillery corps of plodding contrivance. 

What books are you reading, or what is the 
subject of your thoughts, besides the great stu- 
dies of your profession ? You said something 
about Religion in your last. I don't exactly re- 
member what it was, as the letter is in Ayrshire; 
but I thought it not only prettily said, but nobly 
thouorht. You will make a noble fellow if once 
you were married. I make no reservation of 
your being ?//^//-married : You have so much 
sense, and knowledge of human nature, that 
though you may not realize perhaps the ideas of 
romance, yet you will never be ill-married. 

Were it not for the terrors of my ticklish si- 
tuation respecting provision for a family of chil- 
dren, I am decidedly of opinion that the step I 
have taken is vastly for my happiness. As it is, 
I look to the excise scheme as a certainty of 
maintenance ; a maintenance, luxury to what 
either Mrs. Burns or I were born to. 

Adieu. 

No, 



64 



No. XXVI. 
TO THE SAME. 

Ellisland, June 30, 1788. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

1 JUST now received your brief epistle; 
and to take vengeance on your laziness, I have 
you see, taken a long sheet of writing paper, 
and have begun at the top of the page, intend- 
ing to scribble on to the very last corner. 

I am vext at that affair of the '^ " '^ but dare 
not enlarge on the subject until you send me 
your direction, as I suppose that will be altered 
on your late master and friend's death. I am 
concerned for the old fellow's exit, only as I fear 
it may be to your disadvantage in any respect-— 
for an old man's dying, except he have been a 
very benevolent character, or in some particular 
situation of life, that the welfare of the poor or 
the helpless depended on him, I think it an 
event of the most trifling moment to the world. 

Man 



65 

Man is naturally a kind benevolent animal, but 
he is dropt into such a needy situation here in 
this vexatious world, and has such a whoreson, 
hungry, growling, multiplying pack of necessities, 
appetites, passions, and desires about him, ready 
to devour him for want of other food ; that in 
fact he must lay aside his carqs for others that he 
may look properly to himself.* You have been 
imposed upon in paying Mr. M for the pro- 
file of a Mr. H. I did not mention it in my let- 
ter to you, nor did l ever give Mr. M any 

such order. I have no objection to lose the mo- 
ney, but I will not have any such profile in my 
possession. 

I desired the carrier to pay you, but a« I men- 
tioned only 15s. to him, I will rather enclose 
you a guinea note. I have it not indeed to spare 
here, as I am only a sojourner in a strange land in 
this place ; but in a day or two I return to 
Mauchline, and there I have the bank-notes 
through the house, like salt permits. 

There is a great degree of folly in talking un- 
necessarily of one's private affairs. I have just 

F now 



* A similar thought occurs in a letter to Mr. Hill, vol. 
ii. lett. 95. Dr. Currie's Ed. 



66 

now been interrupted by one of my new neigh- 
bours, who has made himself absolutely con- 
temptible in my eyes, by his silly, garrulous pru- 
riency. I know it has been a fault of my own 
too ; but from this moment I abjure it as I would 
the service of hell ! Your poets, spendthrifts, 
and other fools of that kidney, pretend, for- 
sooth, to crack their jokes on prudence, but 'tis 
a squalid vagabond glorying in his rags. Still, 
imprudence respecting money matters, is much 
more pardonable than imprudence respecting 
character. I have no objection to prefer prodi- 
gality to avarice, in some few instances; but I 
appeal to your observation, if you have not met, 
and often met, with the same little disingenu- 
ousness, the same hollow-hearted insincerity, and 
disintegritive depravity of principle, in the 
hackney'd victims of profusion, as in the un- 
feeling children of parsimony. I have every 
possible reverence for the much talked-of 
world beyond the grave, and I wish that 
which piety believes and virtue deserves, may 
be all matter of fact — But in things belong- 
ing to and terminating in this present scene of 
existence, man has serious and interesting busi- 
ness on hand. Whether g. man shall shake 
hands with welcome in the distinguished eleva- 
tion of respect, or shrink from contempt in the 
abject corner of insignificance ; whether he shall 

wanton 



67 

wanton under the tropic of plenty, at least en- 
joy himself in the comfortable latitudes of easy 
convenience, or starve in the arctic circle of 
dreary poverty ; whether he shall rise in the 
manly consciousness of a self-approving mind, 
or sink beneath a galling load of regret and re- 
morse — these are alternatives of the last mo- 
ment. 

You see how I preach. You used occasion- 
ally to sermonize too ; I wish you would in 
charity, favor me with a sheet full in your own 
way. I admire the close of a letter Lord Boling- 
broke writes to Dean Swift, *' Adieu dear Swift! 
" with all thy faults I love thee entirely : make 
*' an effort to love me with all mine !'* Humble 
servant and all that trumpery, is now such a 
prostituted business, that honest friendship, in 
her sincere way, must have recourse to her pri=- 
mitive, simple,— farewel I 



No. 



6S 



No. XXVII. 
To Mr. GEORGE LOCKHART, 

MERCHANT, GLASGOW. 

Mauchline, July 18, 178S. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

1am just going for Nithsdale, else I 
would certainly have transcribed some of my 
rhyming things for you. The Miss Bailies I 
have seen in Edinburgh. " Fair and lovely are 
thy works, Lord God Almighty! Who would 
not praise Thee for these Thy gifts in Thy good- 
ness to the sons of men I" It needed not your 
fine taste to admire them. I declare, one day I 
had the honor of dining at Mr. Bailie's, I was 
almost in the predicament of the children of 
Israel, when they could not look on Moses's 
face for the glory that shone in it when he de- 
scended from Mount Sinai.* 

I did 



* One of Burns^s remarks when he first came to Edin- 
burgh, was, that between the men of rustic life and the 
polite world he observed little difference — that in the 

former 



69 

I did once write a poetic address from the falls 
of Bruar to his Grace of Athole, when I was in 
the Highlands. When you return to Scotland 
let me know, and I will send such of my pieces 
as please myself best. 

I return to Mauchline in about ten days. 

My compliments to Mr. Purden. I am in 
truth, but at present in haste, 

Yours sincerely. 



former, though unpolished by fashion, and unenlightened 
by science, he had found much observation and much 
intelligence, — but a refined and accomplished woman was 
a being almost new to him, and of which he had formed 
but a very inadequate idea. E. 



No. 



70 



No. XXVIII. 

To Mr. BEUGO, Enqraver, Edinburgh. 

Ellisland, Sept, g, 1788. 
MY DEAR SIR, 

There is not in Edinburgh above the 
number of the graces whose letters would have 
given me so much pleasure as yours of the 3d 
instant, which only reached me yesternight. 

I am here on my farm, busy with my harvest ; 
but for all that most pleasurable part of life 
called SOCIAL communication, I am here at 
the very elbow of existence. The only things 
that are to be found in this country in any de- 
gree of perfection, are stupidity and canting. 
Prose, they only know in graces, prayers, kc, 
and the value of these they estimate as they do 
their plaiding webs — by the ell! As for the 
muses, they have as much an idea of a rhinoceros 
as of a poet. For my old capricious but good- 
natured hussy of a muse — 

By 



71 

By banks of Nith I sat and wept 

When Coila I thought on, 
In midst thereof I hung my harp 

The willow trees upon. 

I am generally about half my tim.e in Ayrshire 
"With my " darling Jean," and then I, at lucid 
intervals^ throw my horny fist across my be-cob- 
webbed lyre, much in the same manner as an 
old wife throws her hand across the spokes of 
her spinning wheel. 

I will send you " The Fortunate Shepherdess" 
as soon as I return to Ayrshire, for there I keep 
it with other precious treasure. I shall send it 
by a careful hand, as I would not for any thing it 
should be mislaid or lost. I do not wish to serve 
you from any benevolence, or other grave Chris- 
tian virtue ; 'tis purely a selfish gratification of 

my own feelings whenever I think of you. 

* * * 

If your better functions would give you leisure 
to write me I should be extremely happy ; that 
is to say, if you neither keep nor look for a re- 
gular correspondence. I hate the idea of being 
obliged to write a letter. I sometimes write a 
friend twice a week, at other times once a 
quarter. 



I 



am 



I am exceedingly pleased with your fancy in 
making the author you mention place a map of 
Iceland instead of his portrait before his works : 
'Twas a o-jorious idea. 

Could you conveniently do me one thing — 
Whenever you finish any head I could like to 
have a proof copy of it. I might tell you a 
long story about your fine genius ; but as what 
every body knows cannot have escaped you, 
I shall not say one syllable about it. 



No. XXIX. 
To Miss CHALMERS, Edinburgh. 

Ellisland, near Dumfries, Sept. \6, 178S. 

Where are you? and how are you? 
and is Lady M'Kenzie recovering her health? 
for I have had but one solitary letter from you. 
I will not think you have forgot me, Madam ; 
and for my part — 

" When thee Jerusalem I forget, 
" Skill part from my right hand !** 

My 



73 

" My heart is not of that rock, nor my soul 
careless as that sea." I do not make my progress 
among mankind as a bowl does among its felloAvs 
— rolling through the crowd without bearing 
away any mark or impression, except where 
they hit in hostile collision. 

I am here, driven in with my harvest-folks 
by bad weather ; and as you and your sister once 
did me the honor of interesting yourselves 
much a Vegard de moi, I sit down to beg the con- 
tinuation of your goodness. — I can truly say 
that, all the exterior of life apart, I never saw 
two, whose esteem flattered the nobler feelings 
of my soul — I will not say, more, but, so much 
as Lady M'Kenzie and Miss Chalmers. When I 
think of you— hearts the best, minds the noblest, 
of human kind — unfortunate, even in the shades 
of life — when I think I have met with you, and 
have lived more of real life with you in eight 
days, than I can do with almost any body I meet 
with in eight years — when I think on the im- 
probability of meeting you in this world again 
— I could sit down and cry like a child I — If 
ever you honored me with a place in your 
esteem, I trust I can now plead more desert. — 
I am secure against that crushing grip of iron 
poverty, which, alas 1 is less or more fatal to the 
native worth and purity of, I fear, the noblest 

souls ; 



74 

souls ; and a late, important step in my life has 
kindly taken me out of the way of those un- 
grateful iniquities, which, however overlooked 
in fashionable license, or varnished in fashiona- 
ble phrase, are indeed but lighter and deeper 
shades of villainy. 

Shortly after my last return to Ayrshire, I 
married " my Jean." This was not in conse- 
quence of the attachment of romance perhaps ; 
but I had a long and much-loved fellow crea- 
ture's happiness or misery in my determination, 
and I durst not trifle with so important a deposit. 
Nor have I any cause to repent it. If I have 
not got polite tattle, modish manners, and fashi- 
onable dress, I am not sickened and disgusted 
with the multiform curse o£ boarding-school af- 
fectation ; and I have got the handsomest figure, 
the sweetest temper, the soundest constitution, 
and the kindest heart in the county. Mrs. 
Burns believes, as firmly as her creed, that I am 
le plus bel esprit^ et le plus honnete homme in the 
universe ; although she scarcely ever in her life, 
except the Scriptures of the Old and New Tes- 
tament, and the Psalms of David in metre, spent 
five minutes together on either prose or verse. — 
I must except also from this last, a certain late 
publication of Scots poems, which she has pe- 
rused very devoutly; and all the ballads in the 

country, 



75 

country, as she has (O the partial lover ! you will 
cry) the finest " wood note wild" I ever heard.— 
I am the more particular in this lady's character, 
as I know she will henceforth have the honor of 
a share in your best wishes. She is still at 
Mauchline, as I am building my house ; for this 
hovel that I shelter in, while occasionally here, 
is pervious to every blast that blows, and every 
shower that falls ; and I am only preserved from 
being chilled to death, by being suffocated with 
smoke. I do not find my farm that pennyworth 
I was taught to expect, but I believe, in time, it 
may be a saving bargain. You will be pleased 
to hear that I have laid aside idle eclat^ and bind 
every day after my reapers. 

To save me from that horrid situation of at 
any time going down, in a losing bargain of a 
farm, to misery, I have taken my excise instruc- 
tions, and have my commission in my pocket for 
any emergency of fortune. If I could set all be- 
fore your view, whatever disrespect you in com- 
mon with the world, have for this business, 
I know you would approve of my idea. 

I will make no apology, dear Madam, for this 
egotistic detail: I know you and your sister 
will be interested in every circumstance of it. 
What signify the silly, idle gewgaws of wealth, 

or 



76 

or the ideal trumpery of greatness I When fel- 
low partakers of the same nature fear the same 
God, have the same benevolence of heart, the 
same nobleness of soul, the same detestation at 
every thing dishonest, and the same scorn at 
every thing unworthy— if they are not in the de- 
pendance of absolute beggary, in the name of 
common sense are they not eq^uals? And if 
the bias, the instinctive bias of their souls run 
the same way, why may they not be friends? 

When I may have an opportunity of sending 
you this, Heaven only knows. Shenstone says, 
" When one is confined idle within doors by bad 
weather, the best antidote against ennui is, to 
read the letters of, or write to one's friends ;" 
in that case then, if the weather continues thus, 
I may scrawl you half a quire. 

I very lately, to wit, since harvest began, 
-wrote a poem, not in imitation, but in the man- 
ner of Pope's Moral Epistles. It is only a short 
essay, just to try the strength of my Muse's pi- 
nion in that way. I will send you a copy of it, 
when once I have heard from you. I have like 
wise been laying the foundation of some pretty 
large Poetic works : how the superstructure 
will come on I leave to that great maker and 
marrer of projects — time. Johnson's collec- 
tion 



11 

tion of Scots songs is going on in the third vo- 
lume ; and of consequence finds me a consumpt 
for a 2:reat deal of idle metre. — One of the 
most tolerable things I have done in that way, is, 
two stanzas that I made to an air, a musical gen- 
tleman* of my acquaintance composed for the 
anniversary of his wedding-day, which happens 
on the seventh of November. Take it as fol- 
lows : 

The day returns — my bosom burns, 
The blissful day we twa did meet, 8cc. 

Dr, Curries Ed. voL 3, p. £89. 

I shall give over this letter for shame. If I 
should be seized with a scribbling fit, before this 
goes away, I shall make it another letter ; and 
then you may allow your patience a week's re- 
spite between the two. I have not room for 
more than the old, kind, heartyj 



To make some amends, mes cheres Mesdames, 
for dragging you on to this second sheet ; and to 
relieve a little the tiresomeness of my unstudied 
and uncorrectible prose, I shall transcribe you 

some 

* Capt. Riddel of Glenriddel. 



78 

some of my late poetic bagatelles ; though I have, 
these eight or ten months, done very little that 
way. One day, in an Hermitage on the Banks of 
Nith, belonging to a gentleman in my neighbour- 
hood, who is so good as give me a key at plea- 
sure, I wrote as follows ; supposing myself the 
sequestered, venerable inhabitant of the lonely 
mansion. 

Lines written in Friar s Carse Hermitage.''' 

Br, Curries Ed, Vol, 3, p, 289. 



No. 



* The poetic temperament is ever predisposed to 
sensations of the " horrible and awful." Burns, in return- 
ing from his visits at Glenriddel to his farm at Ellisland, 
had to pass through a little wild vv^ood in which stood the 
Hermitage. When the night was dark and dreary it was 
his custom generally to solicit an additional parting glass 
to fortify his spirits and keep up his courage. This was 
related by a lady a near relation of Capt. Riddel's ; who 
had frequeat opportunities of seeing this salutary practice 
exemplified. E. 



79 



No. XXX. 
To Mrs. DUNLOP, of Dunlop, 

Mauchline, Q7th Sept, 1788, 

I HAVE received twins, dear madam, more 
than once ; but scarcely ever with more pleasure 
than when I received yours ^of the 15th instant. 
To make myself understood ; I had wrote to 
Mr. Graham, inclosing my poem addressed to 
him, and the same post which favored me with 
yours, brought me an answer from him. It was 
dated the very day he had received mine ; and I 
am quite at a loss to say whether it was most 
polite or kind. 

Your criticisms, my honored benefactress, 
are truly the work of a friend. They are not 
the blasting depredations of a canker-toothed, 
caterpillar critic ; nor are they the fair statement 
of cold impartiality, balancing with unfeeling 
exactitude, the pro and con of an author's me- 
rits ; they are the judicious observations of ani- 
mated friendship, selecting the beauties of the 

piece. 



80 



piece.* I have just arrived from Nithsdale, and 
will be here a fortnight. I was on horseback this 
morning by three o'clock ; for between my wife 

and my farm is just forty-six miles. As I jogged 
on in the dark, I was taken with a poetic fit, 
as follows : 

" Mrs. 



* From a letter which is printed in Dr. Currie's collec- 
tion, it appears that Burns entertained no great respect for 
what may be stiled technical criticism. He loved the man 
who judged of poetical compositions from the heart — but 
looked with an evil eye upon those who decided by the 
cold decisions of the head. This is evinced by the follow- 
ing anecdote. 

At a private breakfast, in a literary circle at Edinburgh, 
to which he was invited, the conversation turned on, the 
poetical merit and pathos of Gray's Elegy, a poem of 
which he was enthusiastically fond. A clergyman present, 
remarkable for his love of paradox and for his eccentric 
notions on every subject, distinguished himself by an inju- 
dicious and ill-timed attack on this exquisite poem, which 
Burns, with a generous warmth for the reputation of Gray, 
manfully defended. As this gentleman's remarks were ra- 
ther general than specific, Burns urged him to bring for- 
ward the passages which he thought exceptionable. He 
made several attempts to quote the poem, but always in a 
blundering inaccurate manner. Burns bore all this for a 
considerable time with his usual good nature and forbear- 
ance; till, at length, goaded by the fastidious criticisms 

and 



81 

" Mrs. F of C 's lamentation for the 

death of her son; an uncommonly promising 
youth of eighteen or nineteen years of age." 

Here follow the verses, entitled, " A Mother's 
lament for the loss of her Son.'' 

Dr. Currie's Ed, Vol 4, p. 388. 

You will not send me your poetic rambles, 
but, you see, I am no niggard of mine. I am 
sure your impromptu's give me double pleasure ; 
what falls from your pen, can neither be unen- 
tertaining in itself, nor indifferent to me. 

The one fault you found, is just ; but I cannot 
please myself in an emendation. 

What a life of solicitude is the life of a pa- 
rent I You interested me much in your young 
couple. 

I would not take my folio paper for this epis- 
G tie, 



and wretched quibblings of his opponent, he roused him- 
self, and with an eye flashing contempt and indignation, 
and with great vehemence of gesticulation, he thus addressed 
the cold critic. " Sir, — I now perceive a man may be an 
" excellent judge of poetry by square and ruky and after 
« all,--^be a d— d blockhead!" E. 



tie, and now I repent it. I am so jaded with my 
dirty long journey that I was afraid to drawl 
into the essence of dulness with any thing larger 
than a quarto, and so I must leave out another 
rhyme of this morning's manufacture. 

I will pay the sapientipotent George most 
cheerfully, to hear from you ere I leave Ayr- 
shire. 



No. XXXI. 
To Mr. JAMES JOHNSON, 

ENGRAVER, EDINBURGH. 

Mauchline, Nov, 15 j ]788. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

I HAVE sent you two more songs. — If 
you have got any tunes, or any thing to correct, 
please send them by return of the carrier. 

I can easily see, my dear friend, that you will 
very probably have four volumes. Perhaps you 
may not find your account lucratively, in this bu- 
siness : 



83 

siness ; but you are a patriot for the music of 
your country ; and I am certain, posterity will 
look on themselves as highly indebted to your 
public spirit. Be not in a hurry ; let us go on 
correctly ; and your name shall be immortal. 

I am preparing a flaming preface for your 
third volume. I see every day, new musical 
publications advertised ; but what are they ? 
Gaudy, hunted butterflies of a day, and then va- 
nish for ever : but your work will outlive the 
momentary neglects of idle fashion, and defy 
the teeth of time. 

Have you never a fair goddess that leads you 
a wild-goose chase of amorous devotion ? Let 
me know a few of her qualities, such as, whe- 
ther she be rather black, or fair ; plump, or thin; 
short, or tall ; 8cc. and chuse your air, and I shall 
task my Muse to celebrate her. 



G % No. 



84 



No. XXXII. 
To Dr. BLACKLOCK. 

Mauchline, Nov. 15, 1788. 

liEV. AND DEAR SIR, 

As I hear nothing of your motions but 
that you are, or were, out of town, I do not 
know where this may find you, or whether it 
will find you at all. I wrote you a long letter, 
dated from the land of matrimony, in June; 
but either it had not found you, or, what I dread 
more, it found you or Mrs. Blacklock in too pre- 
carious a state of health and spirits, to take no- 
tice of an idle packet. 

I have done many little things for Johnson, 
since I had the pleasure of seeing you ; and I 
have finished one piece, in the way of Pope's 
Moral Epistles; but from your silence, I have 
every thing to fear, so I have only sent you two 
melancholy things, which I tremble lest they 
should too well suit the tone of your present 
feelings. 



Ih 



85 

In a fortnight I move, bag and baggage, to 
Nithsdale ; till then, my direction is at this 
place ; after that period, it will be at EUislandj 
neai* Dumfries. It would extrepaely oblige me 
were it but half a line, to let me know how you 
are, and where you are. — Can I be indifferent 
to the fate of a man, to whom I owe so much ? 
A man whom I not only esteem but venerate.* v 

My warmest good wishes and most respectful 
compliments to Mrs. Blacklock, and Miss John- 
ston, if she is with you. 

I cannot 



* Gratefully alluding to the Doctor's introduction of 
him to the literary circles of Edinburgh. — " There was 
" perhaps, never one among all mankind/' says Heron, in 
a spirited memoir of our Bard, inserted in the Edin- 
burgh Magazine, " whom you might more truly have 
*' called an Angel upon Earth, than Dr. Blacklock : 
" he was guileless and innocent as a child, yet endow- 
" ed with manly sagacity and penetration; his heart 
*' was a perpetual spring of overflowing benignity ; his 
" feelings were all tremblingly alive to the sense of the sub- 
*^ lime, the beautiful, the tender, the pious, the virtuous : 
" — Poetry was to him the dear solace of perpetual blind- 
" ness ; chearfulness, even to gaiet}', was, notwithstanding 
" that irremediable misfortune, long the predominant co- 
" lour of his mind : In his latter years, when the gloom 
'^ might otherwise have thickened around him, hope, faith, 

^' devotioq 



86 

I cannot conclude without telling you that I 
am more and more pleased with the step I took 
respecting '* my Jean." — Two things, from my 
happy experience, I set down as apothegms in 
life. A wife's head is immaterial, compared 
w^ith her heart — and — " Virtue's (for wisdom 
what poet pretends to it) — ways are ways of piea- 
santness, and all her paths are peace. 

Adieu ! 



Here follow the " l^he mother's lament for 
the loss of her son,'' and the song beginning, 
" The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the 
hilir 

Dr. Currie's Ed. Vol. 4, p. 290. 



" devotion the most fervent and sublime, exalted his mind 
" to Heaven, and made him maintain his wonted chearful- 
'* ness in the expectation of a speedy dissolution." — 
^ In the beginning of the Winter of 1786-87} Burns 
canie to Edinburgh: By Dr. B. he was received with the 
most flattering kindness ; and was earnestly introduced to 
every person of taste and generosity among the good old 
man s friends. It was little Blacklock had in his power 
to do for a brother poet — but that little he did with a 
fond alacrity, and with a modest grace. E. 



87 



. No. XXXIII. 
To Mr. ROBERT AINSLIE. 



EUidand, Jan. 6, 1789. 

Many happy returns of the season to 
you, my dear Sir I May you be comparatively 
happy up to your comparative worth among the 
sons of men; which wish would, I am sure, 
make you one of the most blest of the human 
race. 

I do not know if passing a " Writer to the sig- 
net" be a trial of scientific merit, or a mere bu- 
siness of friends and interest. However it be, 
let me quote you my two favorite passages, 
which though I have repeated them ten thou- 
sand times, still they rouse my manhood and 
steel njy resolution like inspiration. 



On Reason buikl resolve, 



That column of true majesty in man. 

Young. 



Hear^ 



88 



Hear, Alfred, hero of the state, 
Thy genius heaven's high will declare ; 
The triumph of the truly great 
Is never, never to despair ! 
Is never to despair ! 

Masque of Alfred* 

I grant you enter the lists of life, to struggle 
for bread, business, notice, and distinction, in 
common with hundreds. — But who are they? 
Men, like yourself, and of that aggregate body, 
your compeers, seven tenths of them come short 
of your advantages natural and accidental ; while 
two of those that remain either neglect their 
parts, as flowers blooming in a desart, or mis- 
spend their strength, like a bull goring a bram- 
ble bush. 

But to change the theme: I am still catering 
for Johnson's publication; and among others, I 
have brushed up the following old favorite song 
a little, with a view to your worship. I have 
only altered a word here and there ; but if you 
like the humor of it, we shall think of a stanza 
or two to add to it. 



No. 



89 



No. XXXIV. 
To Mr. JAMES HAMILTON, 

GLASGOW. 

Ellisland, Mai/ ^6, 1789* 

DEAR SIR, 

I SEND you by John Glover, Carrier, 
the above account for Mr. Turnbull, as I sup- 
pose you know his address. 

I would fain offer, my dear Sir, a word of 
sympathy with your misfortunes ; but it is a 
tender string, and I know not how to touch it. 
It is easy to flourish a set of high-flown senti- 
ments on the subject that would give great satis- 
faction to — a breast quite at ease ; but as one 
observes, who was very seldom mistaken in the 
theory of life, " The heart knoweth its own 
" sorrows, and a stranger intermeddleth not 
'' therewith." 

Among some distressful emergencies that I 
have experienced in life, I ever laid this down 

as 



k... 



90 

as my foundation of comfort — That he who has 
lived the life of an honest man, has hy no means 
lived in vain ! 

With every wish for your welfare and future 
success, 

I am, my dear Sir, 

Sincerely yours. 



No. XXXV. 
To WM. CREECH, Esq. 



Ellisland May 30, 1789. 

SIR, 

1 HAD intended to have troubled you 
with a long letter, but at present the delightful 
sensations of an omnipotent Toothach so engross 
all my inner man, as to put it out of my power 
even to write nonsense. — However, as in duty 
bound, I approach my Bookseller with an offer- 
ing in my hand— a few poetic clinches and a 
song:— -To expect any other kind of offering from 

the 



91 

the Rhyming Tribe, would be to know them 
much less than you do, I do not pretend that 
there is much merit in these morceaux, but I 
have two reasons for sending them ; primo^ they 
are mostly ill-natured, so are in unison with my 
present feelings, while fifty troops of infernal 
spirits are driving post from ear to ear along my 
jaw-bones ; and secondly, they are so short, that 
you cannot leave off in the middle, and so hurt 
my pride in the idea that you found any work of 
mine too heavy to get through. 

I have a request to beg of you, and I not only 
beg of you, but conjure you — by all your wishes 
and by all your hopes, that the muse will spare 
the satiric wink in the moment of your foibles ; 
that she will warble the song of rapture round 
your hymeneal couch ; and that she will shed on 
your turf the honest tear of elegiac gratitude I 
grant my request as speedily as possible. — Send 
me by the very first fly or coach for this place, 
three copies of the last edition of my poems; 
which place to my account. 

Now, may the good things of prose, and the 
good things of verse, come among thy hands 
until they be filled with the good things of this 
life! prayeth 

BOB^. BURNS. 

No. 



9i 



No. XXXVI. 
To Mr. ROBERT AINSLIE. 



Ellisland, June 8, 1789- 



I AM perfectly ashamed of myself when 
I look at the date of your last. It is not that I 
forget the friend of my heart and the companion 
of my peregrinations ; but I have been condemn- 
ed to drudgery beyond sufferance, though not, 
thank God, beyond redemption. I have had a 
collection of poems by a lady put into my hands 
to prepare them for the press ; which horrid task, 
with sowing my corn with my own hand, a par- 
cel of masons, wrights, plaisterers, 8cc. to at- 
tend to, roaming on business through Ayrshire — 
all this was against me, and the very first dread- 
ful article was of itself too much for me. 

13th. I have not had a moment to spare from 
incessant toil since the 8th. Life, my dear Sir, is 
a serious matter. You know by experience that 
a man's individual self is a good deal, but believe 

me, 



9S 

me, a wife and family of children, whenever you 
have the honor to be a husband and a father, will 
shew you that your present most anxious hours 
of solicitude are spent on trifles. The welfare 
of those who are very dear to us, whose only 
support, hope and stay we are — this, to a ge- 
nerous mind, is another sort of more important 
object of care than any concerns whatever which 
center merely in the individual. On the other 
hand, let no young, unmarried, rakehelly dog 
among you, make a song of his pretended li- 
berty and freedom from care. If the relations 
we stand in to king, country, kindred, and 
friends, be any thing but the visionary fancies 
of dreaming metaphysicians ; if religion, virtue, 
magnanimity, generosity, humanity and justice 
be aught but empty sounds; then the man who 
may be said to live only for others, for the be- 
loved, honorable female whose tender faithful 
embrace endears life, and for the helpless little 
innocents who are to be the men and women, 
the worshippers of his God, the subjects of his 
king, and the support, nay the very vital exist- 
ence of his COUNTRY, in the ensuing age; — com- 
pare such a man with any fellow whatever, who, 
whether he bustle and push in business among 
laborers, clerks, statesmen; or whether he roar 
and rant, and drink and sing in taverns — a fel- 
low over whose grave no one will breathe a single 

heigh-ho, 



94 

heigh-ho, except from the cobweb-tie of what is 
called good fellowship — who has no view nor 
aim but what terminates in himself — if there be 
any grovelling earthborn wretch of our species, 
a renegado to common sense, who would fain 
believe that the noble creature, man, is no bet- 
ter than a sort of fungus, generated out of no- 
thing, nobody knows how, and soon dissipating 
in nothing, nobody knows where ; such a stupid 
beast, such a crawling reptile might balance the 
foregoing unexaggerated comparison, but no one 
ejse would have the patience. 

Forgive me, my dear Sir, for this long si- 
lence. To make you amends^ I shall send you 
soon, and more encouraging still, without any 
postage, one or two rhymes of my later manu- 
facture. 



No. 



95 



No. XXXVII. 
To Capt. riddel, Carse. 



Ellisland, Oct. Id, 1789* 



Big with the idea of this important day* 
at Friars Carse, I have watched the elements 
and skies in the full persuasion that they would 
announce it to the astonished world by some 
phenomena of terrific portent. — Yesternight un- 
til a very late hour did I wait with anxious hor- 
ror, for the appearance of some Comet firing 
half the sky; or aerial armies of sanguinary 
Scandinavians, darting athwart the startled hea- 
vens rapid as the ragged lightning, and horrid as 
those convulsions of nature that bury nations. 

The elements, however, seem to take the mat- 
ter very quietly : they did not even usher in this 
morning with triple suns and a shower of blood, 

symbolical 



* The day on which " the Whistle*' was contended for., 



96 

symbolical of the three potent heroes, and the 
mighty claret-shed of the day. — For me, as 
Thomson in his Winter says of the storm — I 
shall '* Hear astonished, and astonished sing" 

The whistle and the man ; I sing 
The man that won the whistle, 8cc. 

" Here are we met, three merry boys, 
^^ Three merry boys I trow are we ; 

" And mony a night we've merry been, 
'' And mony mae we hope to be. 

" Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 
" A cuckold coward loun is he : 

" Wha lasf^ beside his chair shall fa' 
" He is the king amang us three." 

To leave the heights of Parnassus and come 
to the humble vale of prose. — I have some mis- 
givings that I take too much upon me, when I 
request you to get your guest, Sir Robert Low- 
rie, to frank the two inclosed covers for me, the 
one of them, to Sir William Cunningham, of 
Robertland, Bart, at Auchenskeith, Kilmarnock^ 

—the 



* In former Editions of these verses, the word first 
has been printed in this place instead of the word Imt, 

E. 



97 

— ^^tlie other, to Mr. Allan Mastertoii, Writing- 
Master, Edinburgh. The first has a kindred 
claim on Sir Robert, as being a brother Baronet, 
and likewise a keen Foxite ; the other is one of 
the worthiest men in the world, and a man of 
real genius; so, allow me to say, he has a frater- 
nal claim on you. I want them franked for to- 
morrow as I cannot get them to the post to-night. 
— I shall send a servant again for them in the 
evening. Wishing that your head may be crown- 
with laurels to-night, and free from aches to- 
morrow, 

I have the honor to be. 
Sir, 

Your deeply indebted humble Servant. 



H 



No. 



98 



No. XXXVIII. 
TO THE SAME. 



1 WISH from my inmost soul it were in 
my power to give you a more substantial gratifi- 
cation and return for all your goodness to the 
poet, than transcribing a few of his idle rhymes. 
— However, '* an old song," though to a pro- 
verb an instance of insignificance, is generally 
the only coin a poet has to pay with. 

If my poems which I liave transcribed, and 
mean still to transcribe into your book, were 
equal to the grateful respect and high esteem I 
bear for the gentleman to whom I present them, 
they would be the finest poems in the language. 
— As they are, they will at least be a testimony 
with what sincerity I have the honor to be. 

Sir, 
Your devoted humble Servant. 



99 



No. XXXIX. 
To Mr. ROBERT AINSLIE. 

EUisIand, Nov. 1, 1789. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, 

X HAD written you long ere now, could I 
have guessed where to find you, for I am sure 
you have more good sense than to waste the pre- 
cious days of vacation time in the dirt of busi- 
ness and Edinburgh, — Wherever you are, God 
bless you, and lead you not into temptation, but 
deliver you from evil ! 

I do not know if I have informed you that I 
am now appointed to an excise division, in the 
middle of which my house and farm lie. In this 
I was extremely lucky. Without ever having 
been an expectant, as they call their journeymen 
excisemen, I was directly planted down to all 
intents and purposes an officer of excise ; there 
to flourish and bring forth fruits — worthy of re- 
pentance. 

I know not how the word exciseman, or still 
H ^ more 



100 

more opprobrious, gauger, will sound in your 
ears. I too have seen the day when my audito- 
ry nerves would have felt very delicately on this 
subject ; but a vf'iie and children are things which 
have a wonderful power in blunting these kind 
of sensations. Fifty pounds a year for life, and 
a provision for widows and orphans, you will 
allow is no bad settlement for a poet. For the 
ignominy of the profession, I have the encou- 
ragement which I once heard a recruiting Ser- 
jeant give to a numerous, if not a respectable au- 
dience, in the streets of Kilmarnock. — '' Gentle- 
^' men, for your further and better encourage- 
'' ment, I can assure you that our regimient is the 
" most blackguard corps under the crown, and 
" consequently with us an honest fellow has the 
" surest chance for preferment." 

You need not doubt that I find several very 
unpleasant and disagreeable circumstances in my 
business ; but I am tired with and disgusted at 
the language of complaint against the evils of 
life. Human existence in the most favorable si- 
tuations does not abound with pleasures, and 
has its inconveniences and ills ; capricious fool- 
ish man mistakes these inconveniences and ills 
as if they were the peculiar property of his par- 
ticular situation ; and hence that eternal fickle- 
ness, that love of change, which has ruined, and 

daily 



101 

daily does ruin many a fine fellow, as well as 
many a blockhead ; and is almost, without excep- 
tion, a constant source of disappointment and 
misery. 

I long to hear from you how you go on — not 
so much in business as in life. Are you pretty 
well satisfied with your own exertions, and to- 
lerably at ease in your internal reflections? 'Tis 
much to be a great character as a lawyer, but be- 
yond comparison more to be a great character as 
a man. That you may be both the one and the 
other is the earnest wish, and that you will be 
both is the firm persuasion of, 

My dear Sir, See. 



No. XL. 

To Mr. peter HILL, Bookseller, 
Edinburgh. 

Ellisland, Feb. Q, 1790. 

No! I will not say one word about 
apologies or excuses for not writing — I am a 
poor, rascally ganger, condemned to gallop at 

least 



105 

least 200 miles every week to inspect dirty- 
ponds and yeasty barrels, and where can I find 
time to write to, or importance to interest any 
body ? The upbraidings of my conscience, nay 
the upbraidings of my wife, have persecuted 
me on your account these two or three months 
past. — I wish to God I was a great man, that my 
correspondence might throw light upon you, to 
let the world see what you really are ; and then 
I would make your fortune, without putting my 
hand in my pocket for you, which, like all 
other great men, I suppose I would avoid as 
much as possible. What are you doing, and 
how are you doing ? Have you lately seen any 
of my few friends ? What is become of the 
BOROUGH REFORM, or how is the fate of my 
poor namesake Mademoiselle Burns decided? 
O man I but for thee and thy selfish appetites, 
and dishonest artifices, that beauteous form, and 
that once innocent and still ingenuous mind 
might have shone conspicuous and lovely in the 
faithful wife, and the affectionate mother; and 
shall the unfortunate sacrifice to thy pleasures 
have no claim on thy humanity ! 

I saw lately in a Review, some extracts from a 
new poem, called The Village Curate ; send 
it me. I want likewise a cheap copy of The 
World. Mr. Armstrong, the young poet, who 

does 



103 

does me the honor to mention me so kindly in 
his works, please give him my best thanks for the 
copy of his book — I shall write him, my first 
kisure hour. I like his poetry much, but I think 
his style in prose quite astonishing. 



Your book came safe, and I am going to trou- 
ble you with farther commissions. I call it 
troubling you — because T v/ant only, books; 
the cheapest way, the best ; so you may have 
to hunt for them in the evening auctions. I 
want Smollett's Works, for the sake of his in- 
comparable humor. I have already Roderick 
Random, and Humphrey Clinker. — Peregrine 
Pickle, Launcelot Greaves, and Frederick, Count 
Fathom, I still want ; but as I said, the veriest 
ordinary copies will serve me. I am nice only 
in the appearance of my poets. I forget the 
price of Cowper's Poems, but, I believe, I must 
have them. I saw the other day, proposals for 
iL publication, entitled, " Banks's new and com- 
plete Christian's Family Bible," printed for C. 
Cooke, Paternoster-row, London, — He promises 
at least, to give in the work, I think it is three 
hundred and odd engravings, to which he has 
put the names of the first artists in London.'' — 

You 

* Perhaps no set of men more effectually avail them- 
selves of the easy credulity of the public, than a certain 

descriptio 



104 

You will know the character of the performance, 
as some numbers of it are published; and if it is 
really what it pretends to be, set me down 
as a subscriber, and send me the published 
numbers. 

Let me hear from you, your first leisure mi- 
nute, and trust me, you shall in future have no 
reason to complain of my silence. The dazzling 
perplexity of novelty will dissipate and leave 

me 



description of Paternoster-row booksellers. Three hun- 
dred and odd engravings! — and by the first artists in Lon- 
don, too ! No wonder that Burns was dazzled by the splen- 
dour of the promise. It is no unusual thing for this 
class of impostors to illustrate the Holy Scriptures by 
plates originally engraved for the History of England^ and 
1 have actually seen subjects designed by our celebrated 
artist Stothard, from Clarissa Harlozce and the Novelist's 
Magazine, converted, with incredible dexterity, by these 
Bookselling-Breslavi^s, into Scriptural embellishments! One 
of these venders of * Family Bibles' lately called on me, 
to consult me professionally, about a folio engraving 
he brought with him. — It represented Mons. Buffon, 
seated, contemplating various groups of animals that sur- 
rounded him : He merely wished, he said, to be inform- 
ed, whether by uncloathing the Naturalist, and giving him 
a rather more resolute look, the plate could not, at a tri- 
fling expense, be made to pass for "Daniel in the 

I^IONS' DEN !" E. 



105 

me to pursue my course in the quiet path of me- 
thodical routine. 



No. XLI. 
To Mr. W. NICOL. 

Ellislandy Feb, 9, 1790. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

That d-mned mare of yours is dead. I 
would freely have given her price to have saved 
her : she has vexed me beyond description. In- 
debted as I was to your goodness beyond what I 
can ever repay, I eagerly grasped at your offer 
to have the mare with me. That I might at least 
shew my readiness in wishing to be grateful, I 
took every care of her in my power. She was 
never crossed for riding above half a score of 
times by me or in my keeping. I drew her in 
the plough, one of three, for one poor week. I 
refused fifty-five shillings for her, which was the 
highest bode I could squeeze for her. I fed her 
up and had her in fine order for Dumfries fair; 
when four or five days before the fair, she was 
seized with an unaccountable disorder in the si- 
news, 



lo6 

news, or somewhere in the bones of the neck $ 
with a weakness or total want of power in her 
fillets, and in short the whole vertebrae of her 
spine seemed to be diseased and unhinged, and in 
eight and forty hours, in spite of the two best 
farriers in the country, she died and be d-mned 
to her I The farriers said that she had been 
quite strained in the fillets beyond cure before 
you had bought her, and that the poor devil, 
though she might keep a little flesh, had been 
jaded and quite worn out with fatigue and op- 
pression. While she was with me, she was 
under my own eye, and I assure you, my much 
valued friend, every thing was done for her that 
could be done ; and the accident has vexed me 
to the heart. In fact I could not pluck up 
spirits to write you, on account of the unfortu- 
nate business. 

There is little new in this country. Our the- 
atrical company, of which you must have heard, 
leave us in a week. Their merit and character 
are indeed very great, both on the stage and in 
private life ; not a worthless creature among 
them ; and their encouragement has been ac- 
cordingly. Their usual run is from eighteen to 
twenty-five pounds a night ; seldom less than the 
one, and the house will hold no more than the 
other. There have been repeated instances of 

sending 



107 

sending away six, and eight, and ten pounds In 
a night for want of room. A new theatre is to 
be built by subscription; the first stone is to be 
laid on Friday first to come.* Three hundred 
guineas have been raised by thirty subscribers, 
and thirty more might have been got if wanted. 
The manager, Mr. Sutherland, was introduced 
to me by a friend from Ayr; and a worthier 
or cleverer fellow I have rarely met with. 
Some of our clergy have slipt in by stealth now 
and then; but they have got up a farce of their 
own. You must have heard how the Rev. Mr. 
Lawson of Kirkmahoe, seconded by the Rev. 
Mr. Kirkpatrick of Dunscore, and the rest of 
that faction, have accused in formal process, 
the unfortunate and Rev. Mr. Heron of Kirk- 
gunzeon, that in ordaining Mr. Nelson to the 
cure of souls in Kirkbean, he, the said Heron, 
feloniously and treasonably bound the said Nel- 
son to the confession of faith, so far as it was 
agreeable to reason and the word of God ! 

Mrs, B. begs to be remembered most grate- 
fully to you. Little Bobby and Frank are 
charmingly well and healthy. I am jaded to 
death with fatigue. For these two or three 
months, on an average, I have not ridden less 

than 

* On Friday first to com&^^^ Scotticism. 



, 108 

than two hundred miles per week. I have done 
little in the poetic way, I have given Mr. 
Sutherland two Prologues ; one of which wac 
delivered last week. I have likewise strung 
four or five barbarous stanzas, to the tune of 
Chevy Chase, by way of Elegy on your poor 
unfortunate mare, beginning (the name she got 
here was Peg Nicholson) 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare. 
As ever trode on airn; 
But now she's floating down the Nith, 
And past the Mouth o'Cairn. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 
And rode thro' thick and thin ; 
But now she's floating down the Nith, 
And wanting even the skin. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 
And ance she bore a priest ; 
But now she's floating down the Nith, 
For Solway fish a feast. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 
And the priest he rode her sair ; 
And much oppressed and bruised she was ; 
— As priest-rid cattle are, 8cc. 8cc. 



My 



109 



My best compliments to Mrs. Nicol, and 
little Neddy, and all the family. I hope Ned is 
a good scholar, and will come out to gather nuts 
and apples with me next harvest. 



No. XLII. 
To Mr. MURDOCH, 

TEACHER OF FRENCH, LONDON. 

Ellisland, July l6, 1790. 
MY DEAR SIR, 

I RECEIVED a letter from you a long 
time ago, but unfortunately as it was in the time 
of my peregrinations and journeyings through 
Scotland, 1 mislaid or lost it, and by consequence 
your direction along with it. Luckily my good 
star brought me acquainted with Mr. Kennedy, 
who, I understand, is an acquaintance of yours : 
and by his means and mediation I hope to re- 
place that link which my unfortunate negligence 
had so unluckily broke in the chain of our cor- 
respondence. 1 was the more vexed at the vile 
accident, as my brother William, a journeyman 
saddler, has been for some time in London ; and 

wished 



110 

wished above all things for your direction, that 
he might have paid his respects to his father's 

FRIEND. 

His last address he sent me was, " Wm. 
Burns, at Mr. Barber's, Saddler, No. 181, 
Strand." I write him by Mr. Kennedy, but 
neglected to ask him for your address; so, if you 
find a spare half minute, please let my brother 
know by a card where and when he will find you, 
and the poor fellow will joyfully wait on you, as 
one of the few surviving friends of the man 
whose name, and Christian name too, he has the 
honor to bear. 

The next letter I write you shall be a long one. 
I have much to tell you of " hair-breadth 'scapes 
in th' imminent deadly breach," with all the 
eventful history of a life, the early years of which 
owed so much to your kind tutorage; but this at 
an hour of leisure. My kindest compliments to 
Mrs. Murdoch and family. 

I am ever, my dear Sir, 



Your obliged friend.* 



No. 



* This letter was communicated to the Editor by a gen- 
tleman to whose liberal advice and information he is much 

indebted , 



lU 



No. XLIII. 
To CRAUFORD TAIT, Esq. Edinburgh. 

Ellisland, Oct, 15, i790. 



Allow me to introduce to your ac- 
quaintance the bearer, Mr. Wm. Duncan, a 
friend of mine, whom I have long known and 

long 



indebted, Mr. John Murdoch, the tutor of the poet; ac- 
companied by the following interesting note. 



laondon, Hart-street, Bloomshuri/, 
^Sth, Dec, 1807. 

DEAR SIR, 

The following letter, which I lately found among 
my papers, I copy for your perusal, partly because it is 
Bums's, partly because it makes honourable mention of 
my rational Christian friend, his father ; and likewise be- 
cause it is rather flattering to myself. I glory in no one 
thing so much as an intimacy with good men : — the friend- 
ship of others reflects no honour. When I recollect the 

pleasure. 



112. 



long loved. His father, whose only son he is, 
has a decent little property in Ayrshire, and has 
bred the young man to the law, in which depart- 
ment 



pleasure (and I hope benefit,) I received from the conver- 
sation of William Burns, especially when on the Lord's 
day we walked together for about two miles, to the house 
of prayer, there publicly to adore and praise the Giver of 
all good, I entertain an ardent hope, that together we shall 
*' renew the glorious theme in distant worlds," with powers 
more adequate to the mighty subject, the exuberant 

BENEFICENCE OF THE GREAT CREATOR. But tO the 

letter: — [Here follows the letter relative to young Wm. 
Burns.'] 

I promised myself a deal of happiness in the conversa- 
tion of my dear young friend ; but my promises of this na- 
ture generally prove fallacious. Two visits were the ut- 
most that I received. At one of them, however, he re- 
peated a lesson which I had given him about twenty years 
before, when he was a mere child, concerning the pity 
and tenderness due to animals. To that lesson, (which it 
seems was brought to the level of his capacity,) he de- 
clared himself indebted for almost all the philanthropy he 
possessed. 

Let not parents and teachers imagine that it is needless 
to talk seriously to children. They are sooner fit to be 
reasoned with than is generally thought. Strong and in- 
delible impressions are to be made before the mind be 

agitated 



lis 

ment he comes up an adventurer to your good 
town. I shall give you my friend's character in 
two words : as to his head, he has talents enough, 
and more than enough for common life; as to his 
heart, when nature had kneaded the kindly clay 
that composes it, she said, " I can no more." 

You, my good sir, were born under kinder 
stars ; but your fraternal sympathy, I well know, 
can enter into the feelings of the young man, 
who goes into life with the laudable ambition to 
do something, and to he something among his fel- 
low-creatures ; but whom the consciousness of 
friendless obscurity presses to the earth, and 
wounds to the soul ! 

Even the fairest of his virtues are against him. 
That independent spirit, and that ingenuous mo- 
desty, 



agitated and ruffled by the numerous train of distracting 
cares and unruly passions, whereby it is frequently render- 
ed almost unsusceptible of the principles and precepts of 
rational religion and sound morality. 

But I find myself digressing again. Poor William ! then 
in the bloom and vigour of youth, caught a putrid fever, 
and, in a few days, as real chief mourner, I followed his 
remains to the land of forgetfulness. 

JOHN MURDOCH. 
I 



114 

desty, qualities inseparable from a noble mind, 
are, with the million, circumstances not a little 
disqualifying. What pleasure is in the power 
of the fortunate and the happy, by their notice 
and patronage, to brighten the countenance and 
glad the heart of such depressed youth I I am 
not so angry with mankind for their deaf econo- 
my of the purse : — The goods of this world can- 
not be divided, without being lessened — but 
why be a niggard of that which bestows bliss on 
a fellow-creature, yet takes nothing from our 
own means of enjoyment? We wrap ourselves 
up in the cloak of our own better-fortune, and 
turn away our eyes, lest the wants and woes of 
our brother-mortals should disturb the selfish 
apathy of our souls 1 

I am the worst hand in the world at asking; a 
favor. That indirect address, that insinuating 
implication, which, without any positive request, 
plainly expresses your wish, is a talent not to be 
acquired at a plough-tail. Tell me then, for you 
can, in what periphrasis of language, in what 
circumvolution of phrase, I shall envelope yet 
not conceal this plain story — " My dear Mn 
Tait, my friend Mr. Duncan, whom I have the 
pleasure of introducing to you, is a young lad 
of your own profession, and a gentleman of much 
modesty and great worth. Perhaps it may be in 

your 



115 

your power to assist him in the, to him, impor- 
tant consideration of getting a place ; but at all 
events, your notice and acquaintance will be a 
very great acquisition to him; and I dare pledge 
myself that he will never disgrace your favor." 

You may possibly be surprised, Sir, at such a 
letter from me ; 'tis, I own, in the usual way of 
calculating these matters, more than our ac- 
quaintance entitles me to ; but my answer is 
short: Of all the men at your time of life, whom 
I knew in Edinburgh, you are the most accessi- 
ble on the side on which I have assailed you. 
You are very much altered indeed from what 
you were when I knew you, if generosity point 
the path you will not tread, or humanity call to 
you in vain. 

As to myself, a being to whose interest I be- 
lieve you are still a well-wisher ; I am here, 
breathing at all times, thinking sometimes, and 
rhyming now and then. Every situation has its 
share of the cares and pains of life, and my situ- 
ation I am persuaded has a full ordinary allow- 
ance of its pleasures and enjoyments. 

My best compliments to your father and Miss 
Tait. If you have an opportunity, please re- 
member me in the solemn league and covenant 

I 5 of 



116 

of friendship to Mrs. Lewis Hay. I am a wretch 
for not writing her ; but I am so hackneyed with 
self-accusation in that way, that my conscience 
lies in my oosom with scarce the sensibility of an 
oyster in its shell. Where is Lady M'Kenzie ? 
wherever she is, God bless her! I likewise beg 
leave to trouble you with compliments to Mr. 
Wm. Hamilton ; Mrs. Hamilton and family; 
and Mrs. Chalmers, when you are in that coun- 
try. Should you meet with Miss Nimmo, please 
remember me kindly to her. 



No. XLIV. 

To 



DEAR SI K. 

W H E T H E R in the way of my trade, I can 
be of any service to the Rev. Doctor,'^' is I fear ve- 
ry 



* Dr. M'Gill, of Ajr. The Poet gives the best illus- 
tration of this letter in one addressed to Mr. Graham, 
Dr. Currie's Ed. No. 86, 



117 

ry doubtful. Ajax's shield consisted, I think, of 
seven bull hides and a plate of brass, which alto- 
gether set Hector's utmost force at defiance. 
Alas ! I am not a Hector, and the worthy Doc- 
tor's foes are as securely armed as Ajax was. 
Ignorance, superstition, bigotry, stupidity, ma- 
levolence, self-conceit, envy — all strongly bound 
in a massy frame of brazen impudence. Good 
God, Sir I to such a shield, humor is the peck 
of a sparrow, and satire the pop-gun of a school- 
boy. Creation-disgracing scelerats such as they, 
God only can mend, and the Devil only can pu- 
nish. In the comprehending way of Caligula, I 
wish they had all but one neck. I feel impotent 
as a child to the ardor of my wishes I O for a 
withering curse to blast the germins of their 
wicked machinations. O for a poisonous Torna- 
do, winged from the Torrid Zone of Tartarus, 
to sweep the spreading crop of their villainous 
contrivances to the lowest hell I 



No- 



118 



No. XLV. 
To Mr. ALEXANDER DALZIEL* 

FACTOR, FINDLAYSTON. 

Ellisland, March 19, 1791. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

I HAVE taken the liberty to frank this 
letter to you, as it encloses an idle poem of mine, 
which I send you; and God knows you may 
perhaps pay dear enough for it if you read it 

through. 



* This gentleman, the factor, or steward, of Burns's 
noble friend. Lord Glencairn, with a view to encourage a 
second edition of the poems, laid the volume before his 
lordship, with such an account of the rustic bard's situa- 
tion and prospects as from his slender acquaintance with 
him he could furnish. The result, as communicated to 
Burns by Mr. Dalziel, is highly creditable to the character 
of Lord Glencairn. After reading the book, his lordship 
declared that its merits greatly exceeded his expectation, 
and he took it with him as a literary curiosity to Edinburgh. 
He repeated his wishes to be of service to Burns, and de- 
sired Mr. Dalziel to inform him, that in patronizing the 
book, ushering it with effect into the world, or treating 

with 



119 

through. Not that this is my own opinion; but 
an author by the time he has composed and cor- 
rected his work, has quite pored away all his 
powers of critical discrimination. 

I can easily guess from my own heart, what 
you have felt on a late most melancholy event. 
God knows what I have suffered, at the loss of 
my best friend, my first, my dearest patron and 
benefactor ; the man to whom 1 owe all that I am 
and have 1 I am gone into mourning for him, 
and with more sincerity of grief than I fear some 
will, who by nature's ties ought to feel on the 
occasion. 

I will be exceedingly obliged to you indeed, 
to let me know the news of the noble family, 
how the poor mother and the two sisters sup- 
port their loss. I had a packet of poetic baga- 
telles ready to send to Lady Betty, when I saw 

the 



with the booksellers, he would most willingly give every 
aid in his power; adding his request that Bums would 
take the earliest opportunity of letting him know in what 
way or manner he could best further his interests. He 
also expressed a wish to see some of the unpublished ma- 
nuscripts, with a view to establishing his character with the 
world, E. 



150 

the fatal tidings in the newspaper. I see by the 
same channel that the honored remains of my 
noble patron, are designed to be brought to the 
family burial place. Dare I trouble you to let 
me know privately before the day of interment, 
that I may cross the country, and steal among the 
crowd, to pay a tear to the last sight of my ever 
revered benefactor? It will oblige me beyond 
expression. 



No. XLVI 



Mr. THOMAS SLOAN, 

CARE OF WM. KENNEDY, ESQ. MANCHESTER. 

Ellisland, Sept, i, 1791. 

MY DEAR SLOAN, 

SusPENCE is worse than disappointment, 
for that reason I hurry to tell you that I just now 
learn that Mr. Ballantine does not chuse to in- 
terfere 



121 

terfere more in the business. I am truly sorry 
for it, but cannot help it. 

*You blame me for not writing you sooner, but 
you will please to recollect that you omitted one 
little necessary piece of information; — your ad- 
dress. 

However you know equally well, my hurri- 
ed life, indolent temper, apd strength of attach- 
ment. It must be a longer period than the long- 
est life "in the world's hale and undegenerate 
days," that will make me forget so dear a friend 
as Mr. Sloan. I am prodigal enough at times, 
but I will not part with such a treasure as that. 

I can easily enter into the embarras of your 
present situation. You know my favorite quota- 
tion from Young — 

" On Reason build Resolve! 



" That column of true majesty in man." — 

And that other favorite one from Thomson's 
Alfred— 

*' What proves the hero truly great, 
^* Is, never, never to despair." 



Or, 



122 

Or, shall I quote you an author of your ac- 
quaintance ? 

" — Whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, 
" You may do miracles by — persevering." 

I have nothing new to tell you. The few 
friends we have are going on in the old way. 
I sold my crop on this day se'nnight, and 
sold it very well. A guinea an acre, on an 
average, above value. But such a scene of 
drunkenness was hardly ever seen in this 
country. After the roup was over, about 
thirty people engaged in a battle, every man 
for his own hand, and fought it out for three 
hours. Nor was the scene much better in the 
house. No fighting, indeed, but folks lying 
drunk on the floor, and decanting, until both 
my dogs got so drunk by attending them, that 
they could not stand. You will easily guess 
how I etijoyed the scene ; as I was no farther 
over than you used to see me. 

Mrs. B. and family have been in Ayrshire 
these many weeks. 

Farewel ! and God bless you, my dear Friend ! 



No. 



123 



No. XL VII. 

To FRANCIS GROSE, Esq. F.A.S. 

1792. 

SIR, 

I BELIEVE among all our Scots literati 
you have not met with professor Dugald Stew- 
art, who fills the moral philosophy chair in the 
University of Edinburgh. To say that he is a 
man of the first parts, and what is more, a man 
of the first worth, to a gentleman of your gene- 
ral acquaintance, and who so much enjoys the 
luxury of unincumbered freedom and undisturb- 
ed privacy, is not perhaps recommendation 
enough : — but when I inform you that Mr. Stew- 
art's principal characteristic is your favorite fea- 
ture; that sterling independence of mind, which, 
though every man's right, so few men have the 
courage to claim, and fewer still the magnanimi- 
ty to support : — When I tell you, that unseduced 
by splendor, and undisgusted by wretchedness, 
he appreciates the merits of the various actors 
in the great drama of life, merely as they per- 
form 



U4 

form their parts — in short, he is a man after your 
own heart, and I comply with his earnest request 
in letting you know that he wishes above all 
things to meet with you. His house, Catrine, is 
within less than a mile of Sorn Castle, which you 
proposed visiting ; or if you could transmit him 
the inclosed, he would with the greatest pleasure, 
meet you any where in the neighbourhood. I 
write to Ayrshire to inform Mr. Stewart that I 
have acquitted myself of my promise. Should 
your time and spirits permit your meeting with 
Mr. Stewart, 'tis well ; if not, I hope you will 
forgive this liberty, and I have at least an op- 
portunity of assuring you with what truth and 
respect, 

I am, Sir, 

Your great admirer, 

And very humble servant. 



No. 



125 



No. XLVIIL 
TO THE SAME. 



Among the many witch stories I have 
heard relating to Aloway kirk, I distinctly re- 
member only two or three. 

Upon a stormy night, amid whistling squalls 
of wind, and bitter blasts of hail ; in short, on 
such a night as the devil would chuse to take the 
air in ; a farmer or farmer's servant was plodding 
and plashing homeward with his plough irons on 
his shoulder, having been getting some repairs 
on them at a neighbouring smithy. His way 
lay by the kirk of Aloway, and being rather on 
the anxious look out in approaching a place so 
well known to be a favorite haunt of the devil 
and the devil's friends and emissaries, he was 
struck aghast by discovering through the horrors 
of the storm and stormy night, a light, which 
on his nearer approach, plainly shewed itself to 
proceed from the haunted edifice. Whether he 
had been fortified from above on his devout sup- 
plication, as is customary with people when they 
suspect the immediate presence of Satan ; or 

whether, 



126 

whether, according to another custom, he had 
got courageously drunk at the smithy, I will not 
pretend to determine ; but so it was that he ven- 
tured to go up to, nay into the very kirk. As 
good luck would have it his temerity came off 
unpunished. 

The members of the infernal junto were all out 
on some midnight business or other, and he saw 
nothing but a kind of kettle or caldron, depending 
from the roof, over the fire, simmering some heads 
of unchristened children, limbs of executed male- 
factors, 8cc. for the business of the night.— It 
was, in for a penny, in for a pound, with the 
honest ploughman : so without ceremony he un- 
hooked the caldron from off the fire, and pour- 
ing out the damnable ingredients, inverted it on 
his head, and carried it fairly home, where it 
remained long in the family, a living evidence of 
the truth of the story. 

Another story which I can prove to be equally 
authentic, was as follows : 

On a market day in the town of Ayr, a farmer 
from Carrick, and consequently whose way lay 
by the very gate of Aloway kirk-yard, in order 
to cross the river Doon at the. old bridge, which 
is about two or three hundred yards further on 
than the said gate, had been detained by his bu- 
siness, 



157 

sinessj 'till by the time he reached Aloway it was 
the wizard hour, between night and morning. 

Though he was terrified, with a blaze stream- 
ing from the kirk, yet as it is a well-known fact 
that to turn back on these occasions is running by 
far the greatest risk of mischief, he prudently 
advanced on his road. When he had reached 
the gate of the kirk-yard, he was surprized and 
entertained, through the ribs and arches of an 
old gothic window, which still faces the highway, 
to see a dance of witches merrily footing it round 
their old sooty blackguard master, who was keep- 
ing them all alive with the power of his bag- 
pipe. The farmer stopping his horse to observe 
them a little, could plainly descry the faces of 
many old women of his acquaintance and neigh- 
bourhood. How the gentleman was dressed, tra- 
dition does not say ; but the ladies were all in 
their smocks: and one of them happening un- 
luckily to have a smock which was considerably 
too short to answer all the purpose of that piece 
of dress, our farmer w^as so tickled, that he invo- 
luntarily burst out, with a loud laugh, " Weel 
luppen, Maggy wi' the short sark!" and recol- 
lecting himself, instantly spurred his horse to 
the top of his speed. I need not mention the 
universally known fact, that no diabolical power 
can pursue you beyond the middle of a running 
stream. Lucky it was for the poor farmer that 

the 



U8 

the river Doon was so near, for notwithstanding 
the speed of^ his horse, which was a good one, 
against he reached the middle of the arch of the 
bridge, and consequently the middle of the 
stream, the pursuing, vengeful hags, were so 
close at his heels, that one of them actually 
sprung to seize him ; but it was too late, nothing 
was on her side of the stream but the horse's 
tail, which immediately gave way at her in- 
fernal grip, as if blasted by a stroke of light- 
ning ; but the farmer was beyond her reach. 
However, the unsightly, tail-less condition of 
the vigorous steed was to the last hour of the 
noble creature's life, an awful warning to the 
Carrick farmers, not to stay too late in Ayr 
markets. 

The last relation I shall give, though equally 
true, is not so well identified as the two former, 
with regard to the scene : but as the best authori- 
ties give it for Aloway, I shall relate it. 

On a summer's evening, about the time that 
nature puts on her sables to mourn the expiry 
of the chearful day, a Shepherd boy belonging 
to a farmer in the immediate neighbourhood of 
Aloway Kirk, had just folded his charge, and 
was returning home. As he passed the kirk, 
in the adjoining field, he fell in with a crew of 
men and women, who were busy pulling stems of 

the 



129 

the plant Ragwort. He observed that as each 
person pulled a Ragwort, he or she got astride 
of it, and called out, " up horsie I" on which the 
Ragwort flew off, like Pegasus, through the air 
with its rider. The foolish boy likewise pulled his 
Ragwort, and cried with the rest, '* up horsie 1" 
and, strange to tell, away he flew with the com- 
pany. The first stage at which the cavalcade stopt, 
w^as a Merchant's wine cellar in Bourdeaux, 
where, without saying by your leave, they quaffed 
away at the best the cellar could afford, until 
the morning, foe to the imps and works of dark- 
ness, threatened to throw light on the matter, 
and frightened them from their carousals. 

The poor shepherd lad, being equally a 
stranger to the scene and the liquor, heedlessly 
got himself drunk; and when the rest took 
horse, he fell asleep, and was found so next 
day by some of the people belonging to the 
Merchant. Somebody that understood Scotch, 
asking him what he was, he said he was such-a- 
one's herd in Aloway, and by some means or 
other getting home again, he lived long to tell 
the world the wondrous tale. 

I am, 8cc. Sec* 

No. 

* This letter was copied from the Censura Literaria, 
K 1786. 



130 



No. XLIX. 
to R. GRAHAM, Esq. Fintray. 

December J 179'i. 
SIR, 

I HAVE been surprised, confounded, and 
distracted, by Mr. Mitchel, the collector, tell- 
ing me that he has received an order from your 
Board to enquire into my political conduct, and 
blaming me as a person disaffected to Govern- 
ment. 



1786. It was communicated to the Editor of that work 
by Mr. Gilchrist of Stamford, with the following re- 
mark. 

" In a collection of miscellaneous papers of the An- 
tiquary Grose, which I purchased a few years since, 
I found the following letter written to him by Burns, 
when the former was collecting the Antiquities of Scot- 
land: When I premise it was on the second tradition 
that he afterwards formed the inimitable tale of ^' Tam 
O'Shanter," I cannot doubt of its being read with great 
interest. It were " burning day-light" to point out to a 
reader, (and who is not a reader of Burns?) the thoughts 
he afterwards transplanted into the rhythmical narrative." 

O. G. 



I 



131 

ment. Sir, you are a husband — and a father.— 
You know what you would feel, to see the much- 
loved wife of your bosom, and your helpless, 
prattling little ones, turned adrift into the world. 
deo;raded and diso^raced from a situation in which 
they had been respectable and respected, and left 
almost without the necessary support of a miser- 
able existence. Alas, Sir ! must I think that such, 
soon, will be my lot I and from the d-mned, dark 
insinuations of hellish groundless envy too 1 I 
believe. Sir. I may aver it, and m the sight of 
Omniscience, that I would not tell a deliberate 
falsehood, no, not though even worse horrors, 
if worse can be, than those I have mentioned, 
hung over my head ; and I say, that the allega- 
tion, whatever villain has made it, is a lie I To 
the British Constitution, on revolution princi- 
ples, next after my God, I am most devoutly at- 
tached I You, Sir, have been much and generous- 
ly my friend. — Heaven knows how warmly I have 
felt the obligation, and how gratefully I have 
thanked you. — Fortune, Sir, has made you pow- 
erful, and me impotent ; has given you patron- 
agej and me dependance.— I would not, for my 
single self, call on your humanity; were such 
my insular, unconnected situation, I would de- 
spise the tear that now swells in my eye — I could 
brave misfortune, I could face ruin ; for at the 
worst, "Death's thousand doors stand open;" 

K 2 but. 



132 

but, good God ! the tender concerns that I have 
mentioned, the claims and ties that I see at this 
moment, and feel around me, how they unnerve 
Courage, and wither Resolution ! To your pa- 
tronage, as a man of some genius, you have al- 
lowed me a claim ; and your esteem, as an honest 
man, I know is my due: To these, Sir, permit 
me to appeal ; by these may I adjure you to save 
me from that misery which threatens to over- 
whelm me, and which, with my latest breath I 
will say it, I have not deserved. 



No. L. 
Tx) Mr. T. CLARKE, Edinburgh. 

Jw/j/ 16, 1792. 

Mr. Burns begs leave to present his most 
respectful compliments to Mr. Clarke. — Mr. B. 
some time ao;o did himself the honor of writing; 
Mr. C. respecting coming out to the country, to 
give a little n\usical instruction in a highly re- 
spectable family, where Mr. C. may have his 
own terms, and may be as happy as indolence, 
the Devil, and the gout will permit him. Mr. 

B. 



3 



o 



B. knows well how Mr. C. is engaged with 
another family; but cannot Mr. C. find two or 
three weeks to spare to each of them ? Mr. B. 
is deeply impressed with, and awefuUy consci- 
ous of, the high importance of Mr. G.'s time, 
whether in the winged moments of symphonious 
exhibition, at the keys of harmony, while listen- 
ing Seraphs cease their own less delightful 
strains ; — or in the drowsy hours of slumb'rous 
repose, in the arms of his dearly-beloved elbow- 
chair, where the frowsy, but potent power of 
indolence, eircumfuses her vapours round, and 
sheds her dews on, the head of her darling son. 
—But half a line conveying half a meaning from 
Mr. C. would make Mr. B. the very happiest of 
mortals. 



No. LI. 
To Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Dec. 31, 1792. 



DEAR MADAM, 

A HURRY of business, thrown in heaps 
by my absence, has until now prevented my re- 
turning my grateful acknowledgements to the 

good 



1S4 

good family of Dunlop, and you in particular, 
^for that hospitable kindness which rendered the 
four days I spent under that genial roof, four of 
the pleasantest I ever enjoyed. — Alas, my dear- 
est friend I how few and fleeting are those things 
we call pleasures ! On my road to Ayrshire, I 
spent a night with a friend whom I much valued ; 
a man whose days promised to be many ; and on 
Saturday last we laid him in the dust 1 

Jan, % 1793* 
I HAVE just received yours of the 30th, 
and feel much for your situation. However, I 
heartily rejoice in your prospect of recovery 
from that vile jaundice. As to myself, I am bet- 
ter, though not quite free of my complaint. — 
You must '^not think, as you seem to insinuate, 
that in my way of life I want exercise. Of that 
I have enough ; but occasional hard drinking is 
the devil to me. Against this I have again and 
again bent my resolution, and have greatly sue- 
ceeded. Taverns I have totally abandoned: it 
is the private parties in the family way, among 
the hard drinking gentlemen of this country, 
that do me the mischief — but even this, I have 
more than half given over.* 

Mr. 

* The following extract from a letter addressed by Mr. 
Bloomfield to the Earl of Buchan, contains so interesting 

an 



135 

Mr. Corbet can be of little service to me at 
present ; at least I should be shy of applying. I 
cannot possibly be settled as a supervisor, for se- 
veral years. I must wait the rotation of the 
list, and there are twenty names before mine. — 
I might indeed get a job of officiating, where a 

settled 



an exhibition of the modesty inherent in real worth, and 
so philosophical, and at the same time, so poetical an es- 
timate of the different characters and destinies of Burns 
and its author, that I should esteem myself culpable were 
I to withhold it from the public view. E. 

" The illustrious soul that has left amongst us the name 
of Burns, has often been lowered down to a comparison 
with me ; but the comparison exists more in circumstances 
than in essentials. That man stood up with the stamp of 
superior intellect on his brow ; a visible greatness : and 
great and patriotic subjects would only have called into 
action the powers of his mind, which lay inactive while 
he played calmly and exquisitely the pastoral pipe. 

The letters to which I have alluded in my preface to 
the " Bural Tales," were friendly warnmgs, pointed widi im- 
mediate reference to the fate of that extraordinary man. 
^* Remember Burns," has been the watch-word of my 
friends. I do remember Burns; but I am not Burns ! nei- 
ther have I his fire to fan or to quench ; nor his passions to 
control! Where then is my merit if I make a peaceful 

voyage 



136 

settled supervisor was ill, or aged; but that hauls 
me from my family, as I could not remove them 
on such an uncertainty. Besides, some envious, 
malicious devil, has raised a little demur on my 
political principles, and I wish to let that mat- 
ter settle before I offer myself too much in the 
eye of my supervisors. I have set, henceforth, 
a seal on my lips, as to these unlucky politics ; 
but to you, I must breathe my sentiments. In 
this, as in every thing else, I shall shew the un- 
disguised emotions of my soul. War I depre- 
cate : misery and ruin to thousands, are in the 
blast that announces the destructive demon. But 



The remainder of this letter has been torn away by some 
barbarous hand. 



No. 



voyage on a smooth sea and with no mutiny on board ? To 
a lady, (I have it from herself) who remonstrated with him 
on his danger from drink, and the pursuits of some of his 
associates, he replied, " Madam, they would not thank me 
for my company, if I did not drink with them : — I must 
give them a slice of my constitution." How much to be 
regretted that he did not give them thinner slices of his 
constitution, that it might have lasted longer !" 



137 

No. LII. 

To PATRICK MILLER, Esq. of Dalswinton. 

April, 1793. 

SIR, 

My poems having just come out in an- 
other edition, will you do me the honor to ac- 
cept of a copy ? A mark of my gratitude to you, 
as a gentleman to whose goodness I have been 
much indebted ; of my respect for you, as a pa- 
triot who, in a venal, sliding age, stands forth 
the champion of the liberties of my country ; 
and of my veneration for you, as a man, whose 
benevolence of heart does honor to human na- 
ture. 

There was a time. Sir, when 1 was your de- 
pendant: this language then would have been like 
the vile incense of flattery — I could not have 
used it. — Now that connection"^ is at an end, do 
me the honor to accept of this honest tribute of 
respect from, Sir, 

Your much indebted humble Servant. 

No. 

* Alluding to the time when he held the farm of Ellis- 
land, as tenant to Mr. M. 



13S 



No. LIII. 
to JOHN FRANCIS ERSKINE, Esq.* of Mar. 

Dumfries, 1 3th April, 1793. 
SIR, 

JJegenerate as human Nature is said 
to be ; and in many instances, worthless and 
unprincipled it is ; still there are bright exam- 
ples to the contrary : examples that even in the 
eyes of superior beings, must shed a lustre on 
the name of Man. 

Such an example have I now before me, 
when you, Sir, came forward to patronise and 

befriend 

* This gentleman, most obligingly favoured the Editor 
with a perfect copy of the original letter, and allowed him 
to lay it before the public. — It is partly printed in Dr. 
Currie*s Edition. 

It will be necessary to state, that in consequence of the 
poefs freedom of remark on public measures, maliciously 
misrepresented to the Board of Excise, he was represented as 
actually dismissed from his office. — This report induced Mr. 
Erskine to propose a subscription in his favour, which was 
refused by the poet with that elevation of sentiment that pe- 
culiarly characterised his mind, and which is so happily dis- 
played in this letter. See letter No. 49, in the present vo- 
lume, written by Burns, with even more than his accus- 
tomed pathos and eloquence, in further explanation. E. 



139 

befriend a distant obscure stranger, merely be- 
cause poverty had made him helpless, and his 
British hardihood of mind had provoked the ar- 
bitrary wantonness of power. My much es- 
teemed friend, Mr. Riddel of Glenriddel, has 
just read me a paragraph of a letter he had 
from you. Accept, Sir,, of the silent throb of 
gratitude ; for words would but mock the emo- 
tions of my soul. 

You have been misinformed as to my final 
dismission from the Excise ; I am still in the 
service. — Indeed, but for the exertions of a gen- 
tleman who must he known to you, Mr. Gra- 
ham of Fintray, a gentleman who has ever been 
my warm and generous friend, I had, without so 
much as a hearing, or the slightest previous inti- 
mation, been turned adrift, with my helpless fami- 
ly to all the horrors of want.— Had I had any other 
resource, probably I might have saved them the 
trouble of a dismission; but the little money 
I gained by my publication, is almost every 
guinea embarked, to save from ruin an only bro- 
ther, who, though one of the worthiest, is by 
no means one of the most fortunate of men. 

In my defence to their accusations, I said, that 
whatever might be my sentiments of republics, 

ancient 



140 

ancient or modern, as to Britain, I abjured the 
idea: — That a constitution, which, in its ori- 
ginal principles, experience had proved to be 
every way fitted for our happiness in society, it 
would be insanity to sacrifice to an untried vi- 
sionary theory : — That, in consideration of my 
being situated in a department, however humble, 
immediately in the hands of people in pow- 
er, I had forborne taking any active part, either 
personally, or as an author, in the present busi- 
ness of REFORM. But that, where I must de- 
clare my sentiments, I would say there existed a 
system of corruption between the executive pow- 
er and the representative part of the legislature, 
which boded no good to our glorious constitu- 
tion; and which every patriotic Briton must 
wish to see amended. — Some such sentiments as 
these, I stated in a letter to my generous patron 
Mr. Graham, which he laid before the Board at 
large ; where, it seems, my last remark gave 
great offence ; and one of our supervisors gene- 
ral, a Mr. Corbet, was instructed to enquire on 
the spot, and to document me — " that my busi- 
ness was to act, not to think ; and that whatever 
might be men or measures, it was for me to be 
silent and obedient,'* 

Mr. Corbet was likewise my steady friend ; so 

between 

\ 



141 

between Mr. Graham and him, I have been partly 
forgiven ; only I understand that all hopes of 
my getting officially forward, are blasted. 

Now, Sir, to the business in which I would 
more immediately interest you. The partiality 
of my COUNTRYMEN, has brought me forward as 
a man of genius, and has given me a character to 
support. In the poet I have avowed manly and 
independent sentiments, which I trust will be 
found in the man. Reasons of no less weight 
than the support of a wife and family, have 
pointed out as the eligible, and situated as I was, 
the only eligible line of life for me, my present 
occupation. Still my honest fame is my dearest 
concern ; and a thousand times have I trembled 
at the idea of those degrading epithets that 
malice or misrepresentation may affix to my 
name. I have often, in blasting anticipation, 
listened to some future hackney scribbler, with 
the heavy malice of savage stupidity, exulting in 
his hireling paragraphs—-" Burns notwithstand- 
ing the fanfaronade of independence to be found 
in his works, and after having been held forth to 
public view, and to public estimation as a man of 
some genius, yet, quite destitute of resources 
within himself to support his borrowed dignity, 
he dwindled into a paltry exciseman, and slunk 
out the rest of his insignificant existence in the 

meanest 



142 

meaixest of pursuits, and among the vilest of 
mankind." 

In your illustrious hands, Sir, permit me to 
lodge my disavowal and defiance of these 
slanderous falsehoods. — Burns was a poor man 
from birth, and an exciseman by necessity : but 
— / mil say it I the sterling of his honest worth, 
no poverty could debase, and his independent 
British mind, oppression might bend, but could 
not subdue. Have not I, to me, a more preci- 
ous stake in my Country^s welfare, than the 
richest dukedom in it? — I have a large family of 
children, and the prospect of many more. I 
have three sons, who, I see already, have 
brought into the world souls ill qualified to inha- 
bit the bodies of slaves. — Can I look tamely 
on, and see any machination to wrest from them 
the birthright of my boys, — the little independent 
BRITONS, in whose veins runs my own blood ? — 
No I I will not ! should my heart's blood stream 
around my attempt to defend it ! 

Does any man tell me, that my full eftbrts can 
be of no service; and that it does not belong 
to my humble station to meddle with the concern 
of a nation ? 

lean tell him, that i% is on such individuals as 

I, that 



143 



I, that a nation has to rest, both for the hand oi* 
support, and the eye of intelligence. The unin- 
form'd MOB, may swell a nation's bulk ; and the 
titled, tinsel, courtly throng, may be its feathered 
ornament ; but the number of those who are ele- 
vated enough in life to reason and to reflect; 
yet low enough to keep clear of the venal 
contagion of a court ; — these are a nation's 
strength. 

I know iK)t how to apologize for the imperti- 
nent length of this epistle ; but one small request 
I must ask of you farther — When you have ho- 
nored this letter with a perusal, please to com- 
mit it to the flames. Burns, in whose behalf 
you have so generously interested yourself, I 
have here, in his native colors drawn as he is ; 
but should any of the people in whose hands is 
the very bread he eats, get the least knowledge 
of the picture, it would ruin the poor bard for 
ever J 

My poems having just come out in another 
edition, I beg leave to present you with a copy, 
as a small mark of that high esteem and ar- 
dent gratitude, with which I have the honor 
to be, 

Sir, 

Your deeply indebted. 
And ever devoted humble servant. 

No. 



144 



No. LI V. 
To Mr. ROBERT AINSLIE. 

JprUQ.6, 1793. 

I AM d — mnably out of humour, my 
dear Ainslie, and that is the reason, why I take 
up the pen to ^ou: 'tis the nearest way, [proba- 
turn est) to recover my spirits again. 

I received your last, and was much entertained 
with it ; but I will not at this time, nor at any 
other time, answer it. — Answer a letter ? I never 
could answer a letter in my life I — I have written 
many a letter in return for letters I have received; 
but then — they were original matter — spurt- 
away I zig, here ; zag, there ; as if the Devil that, 
my Grannie (an old woman indeed!) often told 
me, rode in will-'o-wisp, or, in her more classic 
phrase, Spunkie, were looking over my elbow. 
— Happy thought that idea has engendered 
in my head 1 Spunkie — thou shalt henceforth 
be my symbol, signature, and tutelary genius ! 
Like thee, hap-step-and-lowp, here-awa-there- 
awa, higglety-pigglety, pell-mell, hither-and-yon, 

ram-stam,^ 



145 

ram-stam, happy-go-lucky, up tails-a'-by-the 
light-o'the-moon ; has been, is, and shall be, my 
progress through the Mosses and Moors of this 
vile, bleak, barren wilderness of a life of ours. 

Come then my guardian spirit I like thee, may 
I skip away, amusing myself by and at my own 
light : and if any opaque-souled lubber of man- 
kind complain that my elfine, lambent, glimmer- 
ous wanderings have misled his stupid steps 
over precipices, or into bogs ; let the thick-head- 
ed Blunderbuss recollect, that he is not Spunkie: 
—that 

Spunkie's wanderings could not copied be; ' 

Amid these perils none durst walk but he. — 



I have no doubt but scholarcraft may be caught 
as a Scotsman catches the itch,— by friction. 
How else can you account for it, that born 
blockheads, by mere dint o{ handling books, grow 
so wise that even they themselves are equally 
convinced of and surpriz'd at their own parts ? 
I once carried this philosophy to that degree that 
in a knot of country folks w^ho had a library 
amongst them, and who, to the honor of their 
good sense, made me factotum in the business ; 
one of our members, a little, wise-looking, 

L squat, 



146 

squat, upright, jabbering body of a taylor, 1 
advised him, instead of turning over the leaves, to 
bind the book on his back. — Johnie took the hint : 
and as our meetings vrere every fourth Saturday, 
and Pricklouse having a good Scots mile to walk 
in coming, and, of course, another in return- 
ing. Bodkin was sure to lay his hands on some 
heavy quarto, or ponderous folio, with, and un- 
der which, wrapt up in his grey plaid, he grew 
wise, as he grew weary, all the way home. He 
carried this so far, that an old musty Hebrew 
concordance which we had in a present from a 
neighbouring priest, by mere dint of applying 
it, as doctors do a blistering plaister, between 
his shoulders. Stitch, in a dozen pilgrimages, ac- 
quired as much rational theology as the said 
priest had done by forty years perusal of the 
pages. 

Tell me, and tell me truly, what you think oi 
this theory. 

Yours, 

SPUNKIE. 



No 



147 



No. LV. 

To Miss K 



MADAM, 

Permit me to present you with the en- 
closed song as a small though grateful tribute for 
the honor of your acquaintance. I have, in 
these verses, attempted some faint sketches of 
your portrait in the unembellished simple man- 
ner of descriptive truth. — Flattery, I leave to 
your LOVERS, whose exaggerating fancies may 
make them imagine you still nearer perfection 
than you really are. 

Poets, Madam, of all mankind, feel most 
forcibly the powers of beauty; as, if they are 
really POETS of nature's making, their feelings 
must be finer, and their taste more delicate than 
most of the world. In the chearful bloom of 
SPRING, or the pensive mildness of autumn; 
the grandeur of summer, or the hoary majesty 
of WINTER ; the poet feels a charm unknown to 
the rest of his species. Even the sight of a fine 

J' 2 flower, 



14 S 

flower, or the company of a fine woman, (by far 
the finest part of God's works below) have sen- 
satiof/s for the poetic heart that the herd of man 
are strangers to. — On this last account, Madam, 
I am, as in many other things, indebted to Mr. 
Hamilton's kindness in introducing me to you. 
Your lovers may view you with a w^ish, I look on 
you with pleasure ; their hearts, in your pre- 
sence, may glow with desire, mine rises with ad- 
miration. 

That the arrows of misfortune, however they 
should, as incident to humanity, glance a slight 
wound, may never reach your heart — that the 
snares of villainy may never beset you in the 
road of life — that innocence may hand you by 
the path of honor to the dwelling of peace, is 
the sincere wish of him who has the honor ta 
be, 8cc. 



No. 



149 

No. LVI. 
To LADY GLENCAIRN. 

MY LADY, 

l.HE honor you have done your poor 
poet, in writing him so very obliging a letter, 
and the pleasure the inclosed beautiful verses 
have given him, came very seasonably to his aid 
amid the chearless gloom and sinking despon- 
dency of diseased nerves and December weather. 
As to forgetting the family of Glencairn, Hea- 
ven is my witness with what sincerity I could use 
those old verses which please me more in their 
rude simplicity than the most elegant lines I 
ever saw. 

If thee Jerusalem I forget, 

Skill part from my right hand. — 

My tongue to my mouth's roof let cleave, 

If I do thee forget 
Jerusalem, and thee above 

My chief joy do not set. — 

When I am tempted to do any thing improper, 
I dare not, because I look on myself as account- 
able 



150 

able to your ladyship and family. Now and then 
when I have the honor to be called to the tables 
of the great, if I happen to meet with any mor- 
tification from the stately stupidity of self-suffi- 
cient squires, or the luxuriant insolence of up- 
start nabobs, I get above the creatures by calling 
to remembrance that I am patronised by the 
Noble House of Glencairn ; and at gala-times, 
such as New-year's day, a christening, or the 
Kirn-night, when my punch-bowl is brought 
from its dusty corner and filled up in honor of 
the occasion, I begin with, — The Countess of Glen- 
cairn ! My good woman with the enthusiasm of 
a grateful heart, next cries, Mi/ Lord! and so the 
toast goes on until I end with Ladi/ Harriet's lit- 
tle angel! whose epithalamium I have pledged 
myself to write. 

When I received your ladyship*s letter, I was 
just in the act of transcribing for you some verses 
I have lately composed ; and meant to have sent 
them my first leisure hour, and acquainted you 
with my late change of life. I mentioned to my 
lordj my fears concerning my farm. , Those 
fears were indeed too true ; it is a bargain would 
have ruined me but for the lucky circumstance 
of my having an excise commission. 

People may talk as they please, of the ignomi- 
ny 



ny of the excise; 50I. a year will support my 
wife and children and keep me independent of 
the world ; and I would much rather have it 
said that my profession borrowed credit from 
me, than that I borrowed credit from my profes- 
sion. Another advantage I have in this busi- 
ness, is the knowledge it gives me of the various 
shades of human character, consequently assist- 
ing me vastly in my poetic pursuits. I had the 
most ardent enthusiasm for the muses when nobo- 
dy knew me, but myself, and that ardour is by 
no means cooled now that my lord Glencairn's 
o;oodness has introduced me to all the world. 
Not that I am in haste for the press. I have 
no idea of publishing, else I certainly had con- 
sulted my noble generous patron ; but after act- 
ing the part of an honest man, and supporting 
my family, my whole wishes and views are di- 
rected to poetic pursuits. I am aware that 
though 1 were to give performances to the world 
superior to my former works, still if they were 
of the same kind with those, the comparative re- 
ception they would meet with would mortify me. 
I have turned my thoughts on the drama. I do 
not mean the stately buskin of the tragic muse. 



Does not your ladyship think that an Edinburgh 
theatre would be more amused with affectation, 
folly and whim of true Scotish growth, than man- 
ners 



152 

ners which by far the greatest part of the au- 
dience can only know at second hand ? 
I have the honor to be 

Your ladyship's ever devoted 

And grateful humble servant. 



LVIL 



To THE EARL OF BUCHAN, 

WITH A COPY OF 



Dumfries f I2th Jan. 1794, 

MY LORD, 

Will your lordship allow me to present 
you with the inclosed little composition of mine, 
as a small tribute of gratitude for that acquaint- 
ance with which you have been pleased to honor 
me. Independent of my enthusiasm as a Scots- 
man, I have rarely met with any thing in history 
which interests my feelings as a man, equal with 
the story of Bannockburn. On the one hand, a 
cruel, but able usurper, leading on the finest 
army in Europe to extinguish the last spark of 

freedom 



155 

freedom among a greatly-daring, and greatly-in- 
jured people : on the other hand, the desperate 
relics of a gallant nation, devoting themselves to 
rescue their bleeding country, or perish with 
her. 

Liberty I thou art a prize truly, and indeed 
invaluable I — for never canst thou be too dearly 
bought ! 

I have the honor to be, kc. 



No. LVIII. 
To THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 

MY LORD, 

VV HEN you cast your eye on the name at 
the bottom of this letter, and on the title page of 
the book I do myself the honor to send your 
lordship, a more pleasurable feeling than my va- 
nity tells me, that it must be a name not entirely 

unknown 



154 

unknown to you. The generous patronage of 
your late illustrious brother found me in the low- 
est obscurity : he introduced my rustic muse to 
the partiality of my country ; and to him I owe 
all. My sense of his goodness, and the anguish of 
my soul at losing my truly noble protector and 
friend, I have endeavoured to express in a poem 
to his memory, which I have now published. 
This edition is just from the press ; and in my 
gratitude to the dead, and my respect for the 
living (fame belies you, my lord, if you possess 
not the same dignity of man, which was your 
noble brother's characteristic feature) I had des- 
tined a copy for the Earl of Glencairn. I learnt 
just now that you are in town : — allow me to 
present it you. 

I know, my lord, such is the vile, venal conta- 
gion which pervades the world of letters, that 
professions of respect from an author, particu- 
larly from a poet, to a lord, are more than sus- 
picious. I claim my by-past conduct, and my 
feelings at this moment, as exceptions to the too 
just conclusion. Exarlted as are the honors of 
your lordship's name, and unnoted as is the. 
obscurity of mine; with the uprightness of an 
honest man, I come before your lordship, with 
an offering, however humble, 'tis all I have to 
give, of my grateful respect ; and to beg of you, 

mv 



155 



my lord, — 'tis all I have to ask of you, that you 
will do me the honor to accept of it. 

I have the honor to be, Sec* 



No. LIX. 
To Dr. ANDERSON. 

SIR, 

1 AM much indebted to my worthy 
friend Dr. Blacklock for introducing me to a 
gentleman of Dr. Anderson's celebrity; but when 
you do me the honor to ask my assistance in your 
purposed publication, Alas, Sir I you might as 
well think to cheapen a little honesty at the sign 
of an Advocate's wig, or humility under the 
Geneva band. I am a miserable hurried devil, 
worn to the marrow in the friction of holding 
the noses of the poor publicans to the grindstone 

of 



* The original letter is in the possession of the Honor- 
able Mrs. Holland, of Poynings. From a memorandum 
on the back of the letter, it appears to have been written 
in May 1794. 



156. 

of Excise ; and like Milton's Satan, for private 
reasons, am forced 

^^ To do what yet thd' damri d I would abhor;'' — 
and except a couplet or two of honest execration 



No. LX. 

To Mrs. DUNLOP. 

Castle Douglas, 25th June, 1794. 

Here in a solitary inn, in a solitary vil- 
lage, am I set by myself, to amuse my brooding 
fancy as I may. — Solitary confinement, you 
know, is Howard's favorite idea of reclaiming 
sinners ; so let me consider by what fatality it 
happens that I have so long been exceeding sin- 
ful as to neglect the correspondence of the most 
valued friend I have on earth. To tell you that 
I have been in poor health, will not be excuse 
enough, though it is true. I am afraid I am 
about to suffer for the follies of my youth. My 
medical friends threaten me with a flying gout ; 
but I trust they are mistaken. 

I am 



157 

I am just going to trouble your critical pati- 
ence with the first sketch of a stanza I have been 
framing as I paced along the road. The subject 
is liberty: You know, my honored friend, how 
dear the theme is to me. I desio-n it an irreg-ular 
Ode for General Washington's birth-day. After 
having mentioned the degeneracy of other king- 
doms I come to Scotland thus : 

Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among, 
Thee, famed for martial deed and sacred song, 

To thee I turn with swimming eyes ; 
Where is that soul of freedom fled ? 
Immingled with the mighty dead ! 

Beneath that hallowed turf where Wallace 
lies I 
Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death ! 

Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep ; 

Disturb not ye the hero's sleep. 
Nor give the coward secret breath. — ■ 

Is this the power in freedom's war 

That wont to bid the battle rage ? 
Behold that eye which shot immortal hate, 

Crushing the despot's proudest bearing, 
That arm which, nerved with thundering fate, 

Braved usurpation's boldest daring I 
One quenched in darkness like the sinking star, 
And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless 
age. 

YoiL 



158 

You will probably have another scrawl from 
me in a stage or two. 



No. LXI. 
To Mr. JAMES JOHNSON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, 

1 ou should have heard from me long 
ago ; but over and above some vexatious share in 
the pecuniary losses of these accursed times, 
I have all this winter been plagued with low spi- 
rits and blue devils, so that / have almost hung 
my harp on the willow trees. 

I am just now busy correcting a new edition of 
my poems, and this, with my ordinary business, 
finds me in full employment.'*' 

I send you by my friend Mr. Wallace forty 
one songs for your fifth volume ; if we cannot 
finish it any other way, what would you think of 

Scots 



* Burns*s anxiety with regard to the correctness of his 
writings was very great. Being questioned as to his mode 
of composition, he replied, ^^ All my poetry is the effect 
of easy composition, but of laborious correction" 



159 

Scots words to some beautiful Irish airs ? In the 
mean time, at your leisure, give a copy of the 
Museum to my worthy friend Mr. Peter Hill, 
Bookseller, to bind for me, interleaved with 
blank leaves, exactly as he did the Laird of Glen- 
riddel's,* that I may insert every anecdote I can 
learn, together with my own criticisms and re- 
marks on the songs. — A copy of this kind I shall 
leave with you, the editor, to publish at some 
after period, by way of making the Museunpi a 
book famous to the end of time, and you re- 
nowned for ever. 

I have got an Highland Dirk for which I 
have great veneration ; as it once was the dirk 
of Lord Balmerino. It fell into bad hands, who 
stripped it of the silver mounting, as well as the 
knife and fork. I have some thoughts of sending 
it to your care, to get it mounted anew. 

Thank you for the copies of my Volunteer 
Ballad. — Our friend Clarke has done indeed well I 
'tis chaste and beautiful. I have not met with 
any thing that has pleased me so much. You 
know, I am no Connoisseur ; but that I am an 
Amateur — will be allowed me. 

No. 

* This is the manuscript book containing the remarks on 
Scottish songs and ballads, presented to the public, with 
♦considerable additions, in this volume. 



160 



No. LXII. 
To Miss FONTENELLE. 

ACCOMPANYING A PROLOGUE TO BE SPOKEN FOR 
HER BENEFIT. 

MADAM, 

In such a bad world as ours, those who 
add to the scanty sum of our pleasures, are po- 
sitively our benefactors. To you Madam, on 
our humble Dumfries boards, I have been more 
indebted for entertainment than ever I was in 
prouder theatres. Your charms as a woman 
would insure applause to the most indifferent 
actress, and your theatrical talents would insure 
admiration to the plainest figure. This, Madam, 
is not the unmeaning, or insidilous compliment 
of the frivolous or interested ; I pay it from the 
same honest impulse that the sublime of nature 
excites my admiration, or her beauties give me 
delight. 

Will the foregoing lines be of any service to 
you on your approaching benefit night ? If they 
will, I shall be prouder of my muse than ever. 
They are nearly extempore : I know they have no 

great 



161 

great merit ; but though they should add but lit- 
tle to the entertainment of the evening, they 
give me the happiness of an opportunity to de- 
clare how much I have the honor to be, 8cc. 



No. LXIII. 



To PETER MILLER, Jun. Esq.* of Dal- 

SVl^INTON. 

Dumfries J Nov. 1794- 

DEAR SIR, 

Your offer is indeed truly generous, 
and most sincerely do I thank you for it ; but in 
my present situation, I find that I dare not accept 
it. You well know my political sentiments; and 
were I an insular individual, unconnected with 
a wife and a family of children, with the most 
fervid enthusiasm I would have volunteered my 
services : I then could and would have despised 
all consequences that might have ensued. 

M My 

* In a conversation with his friend Mr. Perry, (the 
proprietor of " The Morning Chronicle,") Mr. Miller 

represented 



162 

My prospect in the Excise is something ; at 
least, it is, encumbered as I am with the welfare, 
the very existence, of near half-a-score of help- 
less individuals, what I dare not sport with. 

In the mean time, they are most welcome to 
my Ode ; only, let them insert it as a thing they 
have met with by accident and unknown to me, 
— Nay, if Mr. Perry, whose honor, after your 
character of him I cannot doubt ; if he will 
give me an address and channel by which any 
thing will come safe from those spies with which 
he may be certain that his correspondence is be- 
set, I will now and then send him any bagatelle 
that I may write. In the present hurry of Eu- 
rope, nothing but news and politics will be re- 
garded ; but against the days of peace, which 

Heaven 



represented to that gentleman the insufficiency of Burns** 
salary to answer the imperious demands of a numerous 
family. In their sympathy for his misfortunes, and in 
their regret that his talents were nearly lost to the world of 
letters, these gentlemen agreed on the plan of settling him 
in London. 

To accomplish this most desirable object, Mr. Perry, 
very spiritedly, made the Poet a handsome offer of an an- 
nual stipend for the exercise of his talents in his newspaper. 
Burns's reasons for refusing this offer are stated in the pre- 
sent letter. E. 



163 

Heaven send soon, my little assistance may per- 
haps fill up an idle column of a Newspaper. I 
have long had it in my head to try my hand in 
the way of little prose essays, which I propose 
sending into the world through the medium 
of some Newspaper; and should these be worth 
his while, to these Mr. Perry shall be welcome ; 
and all my reward shall be, his treating me with 
his paper, which, by the bye, to any body who 
has the least relish for wit, is a high treat 
indeed. 

With the most grateful esteem, I am ever, 

Dear Sir, See. 



No. LXIV. 
To GAVIN HAMILTON, Esq. 

Dumfries, 

MY DEAR SIR, 

It is indeed with the highest satisfaction 
that I congratulate you on the return of *' days 
of ease, and nights of pleasure," after the hor- 
rid hours of misery, in which I saw you suf- 
fering existence when I was last in Ayr- 

M 2 shire. 



164 

shire. 1 seldom pray for any body. " I'm 
" baith dead sweer, and wretched ill o't." But 
most fervently do I beseech the great Director of 
this world, that you may live long and be hap- 
py, but that you may live no longer than while 
you are happy. It is needless for me to advise 
you to have a reverend care of your health. I 
know you will make it a point never, at one time, 
to drink more than a pint of wine ; (I mean an En- 
glish pint,) and that you will never be witness to 
more than one bowl of punch at a time ; and that 
cold drams you will never more taste. I am well 
convinced too, that after drinking, perhaps boil- 
ing punch, you will never mount your horse and 
gallop home in a chill, late hour. — Above all 
things, as I understand you are now in habits of 
intimacy with that Boanerges of gospel powers, 
Fat Iter yhdd* be earnest with him that he will 

wrestle 



"^ The Rev. Wm, Auld, the then Minister of Mauchline. 
This man was of a morose and malicious disposition ; 
he had quarrelled with Mr. Gavin Hamilton's father, 
and sought every occasion of revenging himself on the son. 
Burns dearly loved Gavin Hamilton, and could not view 
this conduct with indifference : besides, Father Auld in his 
religious tenets was highly calvinistic, dealing damnation 
around him with no sparing hand. He was also superstitious 

sind 



165 

wrestle in prayer for you, that you may see the 
vanity of vanities in trusting to, or even prac- 
tising the carnal moral works of charity, huina- 
nity^ generosity, ?Lnd forgiveness ; things which 

you 



and bigotted in the extreme : — Excellent marks for the 
poet ! The following specimens of Father Auld will shew 
his desire to provoke and irritate Mr. Hamilton, and are a 
fiill display of the liberality of his sentiments in matters of 
religion. 

He unwarrantably refused to christen Mr. Hamilton's 
child for the following reasons: — that Mr. Hamilton rode 
on Sundays — that he had ordered a person to dig a few po- 
tatoes in his garden on the Sabbath-day, (for which he was 
cited before the Kirk !) He also charged him with dining 
in a public house on a King's fast day^ with two gentle- 
men, and that they were even heard to zohistle and sing 
after dinner. — Moreover, which was the heaviest and most 
awful charge of all — he, Mr. Auld, heard Gavin Hamil- 
ton say, " D-mn it" in his own presence ! 

All this idle and vexatious folly tended, as might be ex- 
pected, to alienate the mind of Mr. Hamilton both from 
the parson and his pulpit. Father Auld and his adherents 
charged him with neglect of religion and disrespect for its 
professors. The poet took his friend and patron's part, 
and repelled the attack by extolling Mr. Hamilton's eleva- 
tion of sentiment, his readiness to forgive injuries, and, 
above all, his universal active benevolence. These excel- 
lent qualities Burns opposed to the fierceness, fanaticism, 

and 



166 

you practised so flagrantly that it was evident you 
delighted in them ; neglecting, or perhaps, pro- 
phanely despising the wholesome doctrine of 
" Faith without works, the only anchor of sal- 
vation." 

A hymn of thanksgiving would, in my Opi- 
nion, be highly becoming from you at present ; 
and in my zeal for your well-being, I earnestly 
press it on you to be diligent iii chanting over 
the two inclosed pieces of sacred poesy. My 
best compliments to Mrs. Hamilton and Miss 
Kennedy. 

Yours in the L d 

R. B. 

No. 



and monkish gloom of this class of priests. His senti- 
ments on the subject are given in this letter with infinite 
address, and in a strain of sly, covert humour that he has 
seldom surpassed. He is equally sly, but more explicit 
in his poetical dedication of his vi^orks to Gavin Hamilton. 
— In a copy, in the poet's writing, that I have seen, the 
circumstance of riding on the Sabbath-day is thus neatly in- 
troduced. 

" He sometimes gallops on a Sunday, 

" An* pricks the beast as it were Monday." 

E. 



161 



No LXV. 

To Mr. SAMUEL CLARKE, jun. Dumfries. 

Sunday Morning. 
DEAR SIR, 

I WAS, I know, drunk last night, but I 
am sober this morning. From the expressions 
Capt. , made use of to me, had I had no- 
body's welfare to care for but my own, we should 
certainly have come, according to the manners 
of the world, to the necessity of murdering one^ 
another about the business. The words were such 
as, generally, I believe, end in a brace of pistols; 
but I am still pleased to think that I did not ruin 
the peace and welfare of a wife and a family of 
children in a drunken squabble. Farther you 
know that the report of certain political opi- 
nions being mine, has already once before 
brought me to the brink of destruction. I dread 
lest last night's business may be misrepresented 
in the same way. — You, I beg, will take care to 
prevent it. I tax your wish for Mr. Burns's 
welfare with the task of waiting as soon as pos- 
sible, on every gentleman who was present, and 
state this to him, and, as you please, shew him 
this letter. What, after all, was the obnoxious 
toast ? " May our success in the present war be 

" equal 



. 16S 

*' equal to the justice of our cause." — A toast that 
the most outrageous frenzy of loyalty cannot 
object to. I request and beg that this morning 
you will wait on the parties present at the foolish 
dispute. I shall only add, that I am truly 
sorry that a man who stood so high in my 

estimation as Mr. , should use me in the 

manner in which I conceive he has done."' 

No. 

* At this period of our Poet's life, when political 
animosity was made the ground of private quarrel, the 
following foolish verses were sent as an attack on Burns 
and his friends for their political opinions. They were 
written by some member of a club styling themselves 
the hoyal Natives of Dumfries, or rather by the united 
genius of that club, which was more distinguished for 
drunken loyalty, than either for respectability or poetical 
talent. The verses were handed over the table to Bums 
at a convivial meeting, and he instantly indorsed the sub- 
joined reply. 

The lioyal Natives' Verses. 

Ye sons of sedition give ear to my song. 
Let Syme, Burns, and Maxwell, pervade every throng. 
With, Craken the attorney, and Mundell the quack, 
Send Willie the monger to hell with a smack. 

Burns — extempore. 

Ye true " Loyal Natives" attend to my song, 
In uproar and riot rejoice the night long ; 
From envy and hatred your corps is exempt ; 
But where is your shield from the darts of contempt'!^ 

. No. 



169 



No. LXVI. 
To Mr. ALEXANDER FINDLATER, 

SUPERVISOR OF EXCISE, DUMFRIES.^ 
SIR, 

Inclosed are the two schemes. I would 
not have troubled you with the collector's one, 
but for suspicion lest it be not right. Mr. Ers- 
kine promised me to make it right, if you will 
have the goodness to shew him how. As I have 
no copy of the scheme for myself, and the altera- 
tions being very considerable from what it was 
formerly, I hope that I shall have access to this 
scheme I send you, when I come to face up my 
new books. So much for schemes. — And that no 
scheme to betray a friend, or mislead a stran- 
ger; to seduce a young girl, or rob a hen- 
roost; to subvert liberty, or bribe an ex- 
ciseman; to disturb the general assembly, 
or annoy a gossipping ; to overthrow the credit 
of ORTHODOXY, or the authority of old songs; 
to oppose your wishes^ or frustrate mi/ hopes — 
may prosper — is the sincere wish and pray- 
er of 

ROBT. BURNS. 

No. 



170 



No. LXVII. 

TO THE EDITORS 
OF THE MORNING CHRONICLE * 



Dumfj 



ries. 



GENTLEMEN, 

I ou will see by your subscribers' list, 
that I have now been about nine months one of 
that number. 

I am 



* This letter owes its origin to the following circum 
stance. A neighbour of the Poet's at Dumfries, called on 
him and complained that he was greatly disappointed in the 
irregular delivery of the Paper of The Morning Chronicle. 
Bums asked, " Why do not you write to the Editors of the 
Paper ?" Good God, Sir, can I presume to write to the 
learned Editors of a Newspaper ? — Well, li you are afraid 
of writing to the Editors of a Newspaper Jam not; and 
if you think proper, I'll draw up a sketch of a letter, which 
you may copy. 

Burns tore a leaf from his excise book and instantly pro- 
duced the sketch which I have transcribed, and which 
is here printed. The poor man thanked him, and took the 

letter 



171 

I am sorry to inform you, that in that time, 
seven or eight of your papers either have never 
been sent me, or else have never reached me. 
To be deprived of any one number of the first 
newspaper in Great Britain for information, 
ability and independance, is what I can ill brook 
and bear ; but to be deprived of that most admi- 
rable oration of the Marquis of Lansdowne, when 
he made the great, though ineffectual attempt, (in 
the language of the poet, I fear too true.) " to 
save a sinking state"- — this was a loss which 
I neither can, nor will forgive you. — That paper, 
Gentlemen, never reached me; but I demand it 
of you. I am a BRITON; and must be interest- 
ed in the cause of liberty : — I am a man ; and 
the RIGHTS of HUMAN NATURE caunot be indif- 
ferent to me. However, do not let me mislead 
you: I am not a man in that situation of life, 
"which, as your subscriber, can be of any conse- 
quence to you, in the eyes of those to whom 

SITUA- 



ietter home. However, that caution which the watchfulness 
of his enemies had taught him to exercise, prompted him 
to the prudence of begging a friend to wait on the person 
for whom it was written, and request the favor to have it 
returned. This request was complied with, and the paper 
never appeared in print. E. 



172 

SITUATION OF LIFE ALONE IS the criterion of 
MAN. — I am but a plain tradesman, in this distant, 
obscure country town : but that humble domicile 
in which I shelter my wife and children, is the 
CASTELLUM of a BRITON ; and that scanty, hard- 
earned income which supports them, is as truly 
my property, as the most magnificent fortune, of 
the most PUISSANT member of your house of 

NOBLES. 

These, Gentlemen, are my sentiments ; and to 
them I subscribe my name : and were I a man of 
ability and consequence enough to address the 
public: with that name should they appear. 

I am, 8cc. 



No. 



1?5 



No. LXVIIL 
To COL. W. DUNBAR. 



1am not gone to Elysium, most noble 
Colonel, but am still here in this sublunary 
world, serving my God by propagating his image, 
and honoring my king by begetting him loyal 
subjects. Many happy returns of the season 
await my friend 1 May the thorns of care never 
beset his path I May peace be an inmate of his 
bosom, and rapture a frequent visitor of his soul! 
May the blood-hounds of misfortune never trace 
his steps, nor the screech-owl of sorrow alarm 
his dwelling I May enjoyment tell thy hours, and 
pleasure number thy days, thou friend of the 
Bard! Blessed be he that blesseth thee, and 
cursed be he that curseth thee ! 



No. 






174 



No. LXIX. 
To Mr. heron, of Heron. 

1794, or 1795. 
SIR, 

1 INCLOSE you s(5tne copies of a couple 
of political ballads; one of which, I believe, you 
have never seen. Would to Heaven I could 
make you master of as many votes in the Stew- 
artry. But — 

"- Who does the utmost that he can, 
" Does well, acts nobly, angels could no more." 

In order to bring my humble efforts to bear 
with more effect on the foe, I have privately 
printed a good many copies of both ballads, and 
have sent them among friends all about the 
country. 

To pillory on Parnassus the rank reproba- 
tion of character, the utter dereliction of all 
principle, in a profligate junto which has not 
only outraged virtue, but violated common de- 
cency ; 



175 

cency ; which, spurning even hypocrisy as pal- 
try iniquity below their daring to unmask their 
flagitiousness to the broadest day — to deliver such 
over to their merited fate, is surely not merely 
innocent, but laudable; is not only propriety, 
but virtue. — You have already, as your auxiliary, 
the sober detestation of mankind on the heads of 
your opponents ; and I swear by the lyre of Tha- 
lia to muster on your side all the votaries of ho- 
nest laughter, and fair, candid ridicule I 

I am extremely obliged to you for your kind 
mention of my interests in a letter which Mr. 
Syme shewed me. At present, my situation in 
life must be in a great measure stationary, at least 
for two or three years. The statement is this-- 
I am <^ the supervisors' list, and as we come on 
there by precedency, in two or three years I 
shall be at the head of that list, and be appointed, 
of course. Then, a friend might be of ser. 
vice to me in getting me into a place of the king- 
dom which I would like. A supervisor's income 
varies from about a hundred and twenty, to two 
hundred a year ; but the business is an incessant 
drudgery, and would be nearly a compleat bar to 
every species of literary pursuit. The moment 
I am appointed supervisor, in the common rou- 
tine, I may be nominated on the collector's list ; 
and this is always a business purely of political 

patronage. 



170 

patronage. A collectorship varies much, from 
better than two hundred a year to near a thou- 
sand. They also come forward by precedency 
on the list; and have besides a handsome in- 
come, a life of compleat leisure. A life of lite- 
rary leisure with a decent competence, is the 
summit of my wishes. It would be the prudish 
affectation of silly pride in me to say that I do 
not need, or would not be indebted to a political 
friend ; at the same time, Sir, I by no means lay 
my affairs before you thus, to hook my depend- 
ant situation on your benevolence. If, in my 
progress of life, an opening should occur where 
the good offices of a genl^leman of your public 
character and political consequence might bring 
me forward, I shall petition your goodness with 
the same frankness as I now do myself the4ionor 
to subscribe myself, kc.'^ 



No. 



* Part of this letter appears in Dr. Curriers ed. vol. ii. 
p. 430. 



177 



No. LXX. 

Address of the Scots Distillers, 

TO 

THE RIGHT HON. WILLIAM PITT, 



While pursy burgesses crowd your 
gate, sweating under the weight of heavy ad- 
dresses, permit us, the quondam distillers in 
that part of Great Britain called Scotland, to ap- 
proach you, not with venal approbation, but 
with fraternal condolence ; not as what you are 
just now, or for some time have been ; but as 
what, in all probability, you will shortly be. — ^ 
We shall have the merit of not deserting our 
friends in the day of their calamity, and you 
will have the satisfaction of perusing at least one 
hon'^st address. You are well acquainted with 
the dissection of human nature ; nor do you need 
the assistance of a fellow-creature's bosom to in- 
form you, that man is always a selfish, often a 
perfidious being. — This assertion, however the 
hasty conclusions of superficial observation may 

N doubt 



178 

doubt of it, or the raw inexperience of youth 
may deny it, those who make the fatal expe- 
riment we have done, will feel. — You are a 
statesman, and consequently are not ignorant of 
the traffic of these corporation compliments. — 
The little great man who drives the borough to 
market, and the very great man who buys the 
borough in that market, they two do the whole 
business ; and you well know, they, likewise, 
have their price. — With that sullen disdain 
which you can so well assume, rise, illustrious 
Sir, and spurn these hireling efforts of venal 
stupidity. At best they are the compliments of 
a man's friends on the morning of his execution : 
They take a decent farewell ; resign you to your 
fate ; and hurry away from your approaching 
hour. 

If fame say true, and omens be not very much 
mistaken, you are about to make your exit from 
that world where the sun of gladness gilds the 
paths of prosperous men : permit us, great Sir, 
with the sympathy of fellow-feeling to hail your 
passage to the realms of ruin. 

Whether the sentiment proceed from the sel- 
fishness or cowardice of mankind is immaterial j 
but to point out to a child of misfortune those 
who are still more unhappy, is to give him some 

degree 



179 

degree of positive enjoyment. In this light, vSir, 
ourdownfal maybe again useful to you: — Though 
not exactly in the same way, it is not perhaps the 
first time it has gratified your feelings. It is true, 
the triumph of your evil star is exceedingly de- 
spiteful. — At an age when others are the votaries 
of pleasure, or underlings in business, you had 
attained the highest wish of a British Statesman ; 
and with the ordinary date of human life, what 
a prospect was before you ! Deeply rooted in 
Ro7/al Favor, you overshadowed the land. The 
birds of passage, which follow ministerial sun- 
shine through every clime of political faith and 
manners, flocked to your branches; and the 
beasts of the field, (the lordly possessors of hills 
and vallies,) crouded under your shade. " But be- 
hold a watcher, a holy one came down from hea- 
ven, and cried aloud, and said thus : Hew down 
the tree, and cut off his branches ; shake off his 
leaves, and scatter his fruit ; let the beasts get 
away from under it, and the fowls from his 
branches I" A blow from an unthought-of quar- 
ter, one of those terrible accidents which pecu- 
liarly mark the hand of Omnipotence, overset 
your career, and laid all your fancied honors in 
the dust. But turn your eyes. Sir, to the tragic 
scenes of our fate. — An ancient nation that for 
many ages had gallantly maintained the unequal 
struggle for independence with her much more 
powerful neighbour, at last agrees to a union 

which 



186 

•which should ever after make them one people. 
In consideration of certain circumstances, it was 
covenanted that the former should enjoy a stipu- 
lated alleviation in her share of the public bur- 
dens, particularly in that branch of the revenue 
called the Excise. This just privilege has of late 
given great umbrage to some interested, power- 
ful individuals of the more potent part of the 
empire, and they have spared no wicked pains, 
under insidious pretexts, to subvert what they 
dared not openly to attack, from the dread which 
they yet entertained of the spirit of their antient 
enemies. 

In this conspiracy we fell; nor did we alone 
suffer, our country was deeply ^vounded. A 
number of (we will say) respectable individu- 
als, largely engaged in trade, where we were not 
only useful but absolutely necessary to our coun- 
try in her dearest interests ; we, with all that 
was near and dear to us, were sacrificed without 
remorse, to the infernal deity of political expedi- 
ency I We fell to gratify the wishes of dark en- 
vy, and the views of unprincipled ambition I 
Your foes. Sir, were avowed; were too brave to 
take an ungenerous advantage ; yon fell in the 
face of day. — On the contrary, our enemies, .to^ 
compleat our overthrow, contrived to make their 
guilt appear the villainy of a nation. — Your down- 
fal only drags with y^u your private friends and 

partisans : 



181 

partisans : In our misery are more or less involv- 
ed the most numerous, and most valuable part of 
the community — all those who immediately de- 
pend on the cultivation of the soil, from the 
landlord of a province, down to his lowest 
hind. 

Allow us, Sir, yet farther, just to hint at an- 
other rich vein of comfort in the dreary regions 
of adversity ; — the gratulations of an approving 
conscience. In a certain great assembly, of which 
you are a distinguished member, panegyrics on 
your private virtues have so often wounded your 
delicacy, that we shall not distress you with any 
thing on the subject. There is, however, one 
part of your public conduct which our feelings 
will not permit us to pass in silence ; our grati- 
tude must trespass on your modesty ; we mean, 
worthy Sir, your whole behaviour to the Scots 
Distillers. — In evil hours, when obtrusive recol- 
lection presses bitterly on the sense, let that, Sir, 
come like a healing angel, and speak the peace 
to your soul which the world can neither give 
nor take away. 

We have the honor to be, 
Sir, 
Your sympathizing fellow sufferers, 
And grateful humble Servants, 
John Barleycorn — Prasses. 

No. 



183 



No. LXXI. 

To THE Hon. the PROVOST, BAILIES, and 
TOWN COUNCIL of Dumfries. 

Gentlemen, 

1 HE literary taste and liberal spirit of 
your good town has so ably filled the various de- 
partments of your schools, as to make it a very 
great object for a parent to have his children edu- 
cated in them. Still, to me, a stranger, with my 
large family, and very stinted income, to give 
my young ones that education I wish, at the high 
School-fees which a stranger pays, will bear hard 
upon me. 

Some years ago your good town did me the honor 
of making me an honorary Burgess. — Will you 
allow me to request that this mark of dis- 
tinction may extend so far, as to put me on the 
footing of a real freeman of the town, in the 
schools? 



If 



183 

If you are so very kind as to grant my re- 
quest,* it will certainly be a constant incentive 
to me to strain every nerve where I can officially 
serve you; and will, if possible, increase that 
grateful respect with which I have the honor 
to be, 

Gentlemen, 
Your devoted humble Servant. 

No, 



* This request was immediately complied with. 

I am happy to have an opportunity, of mentioning, 
with great respect, Mr. James Gray. At the time of 
the Poet's death this gentleman was Rector of the Gram- 
mar School of Dumfries, and is now one of the Masters 
of the High School of Edinburgh. He has uniformly ex- 
erted himself in the most benevolent manner, in the educa- 
tion and welfare of the Poefs sons. E. 



184 



No. LXXII. 
To Mr. JAMES JOHNSON, Edinburgh. 

Dumfries y July 4, 1796. 

rlow are you, my dear friend, and how 
comes on your fifth volume ? You may pro- 
bably think that for some time past I have 
neglected you and your work; but, alas I the 
hand of pain, and sorrow, and care, has these ma- 
ny months lain heavy on me I Personal and do- 
mestic affliction have almost entirely banished 
that alacrity and life with which I used to woo 
the rural muse of Scotia. 



You are a good, worthy, honest fellow, and 
have a good right to live in this world — because 
you deserve it. Many a merry meeting this 
publication has given us, and possibly it may 
give us more, though, alas I I fear it. This pro- 
tracting, slow, consuming illness which hangs 
over me, will, I doubt much, my ever dear friend, 
arrest my sun before he has well reached his mid- 
dle career, and will turn over the Poet to far 

other 



185 

other and more important concerns than studying 
the brilliancy of wit, or the pathos of sentiment ! 
However, hope is the cordial of the human 
heart, and I endeavour to cherish it as well as 
I can. 

Let me hear from you as soon as convenient. — 
Your work is a great one ; and now that it is near 
finished, I see, if we were to begin again, two or 
three things that might be mended ; yet I will 
venture to prophecy, that to future ages your 
publication will be the text book and standard of 
Scottish song and music. 

I am ashamed to ask another favor of you, be- 
cause you have been so very good already ; but 
my wife has a very particular friend of hers, a 
young lady who sings well, to whom she wishes 
to present the Scots Musical Museum."^ If you 

o have 



* In this humble and delicate manner did poor Burns 
ask for a copy of a work of which he was principally die 
founder, and to which he had contributed, gratuitomly, not 
less than 184 original, altered, and collected songs! The 
Editor has^«een 180 transcribed by his own hand, for the 
Museum, 

This Letter was written on the 4th of July, — the Poet 
died on the 21st. No other letters of this interesting pe- 
riod 



186 

have a spare copy, will you be so obliging as to 
send it by the very first Fiy^ as 1 am anxious to 
have it soon. 

Yours ever, 

ROBERT BURNS. 



riod have been discovered, except one addressed to Mrs. 
Dunlop, of the 12th of July, which Dr. Currie very pro- 
perly supposes to be the last production of the dying 
Bard. E. 



STRICTURES 



ON 



SCOTTISH SONGS AND BALLADS, 

ANCIENT AND MODERN; 



WITH 



ANECDOTES OF THEIR AUTHORS. 



'* There needs na' be so great a phrase 
Wi' dringing dull Italian lays, 
I wad na gi'e our ain Strathspeys 

For half a hundred score o' em ; 
They're doufF and dowie at the best, 
Douff and dowie, doufF and dowie ; 
They're douff and dowie at the best, 

Wi' a' their variorum: 
They're douff and dowie at the best. 
Their Allegros, and a' the rest. 
They cannot please a Scottish taste, 

Compar'd wi' Tullochgorum." 

Rei), John Skinner, 



02 



18$ 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

The chief part of the following Remarks on Scottish 
Song$ and Ballads exist in the hand-writing of Robert 
Burns, in an interleaved Copi/, in 4 Volumes^ Octavo, 
of " Johnson's Scots Musical Museum/' Thei/ 
were written by the Poet for Captain Riddel, of 
Glenriddel, whose Autograph the Volumes bear. 
These valuable Volumes were left by Mrs. Riddel, 
to her 'Niece, Miss Eliza Bayley, o/'Manchester, 
by whose kindness the Editor is enabled to give to the 
Public transcripts of this amusing and miscellaneous 
Collection, 



isg 



ALPHABETICAL LIST OF THE SONGS INTBODUCED 
IN THE FOLLOWING REMARKS. 

Page 

A Mother's Lament 303 

A Rose-bud by my early Walk --.--- 258 

A Southland Jenny £90 

A waukrife Minnie ---------- 280 

Absence ------------- 257 

Ah ! the poor Shepherd's mournful fate - - - ^53 

Allan Water - 217 

As I cam down by yon castle wall ----- 296 

Auld lang syne --------- -- 282 

Auld Rob Morris --- 259 

Auld Robin Gray - - - - 273 

Bess the Gawkie -----^---- 195 

Beware o' bonie Ann --------- 266 

Bide ye yet 231 

Blink o'er the Burn, sweet Bettie ----- 222 

Blythe was she ----------- 254 

Bob o' Dumblane ---------- 305 

Ca' the Ewes to the Knowes ------- 277 

Cauld Kail in Aberdeen -------- 247 

Cease, cease my dear friend to explore - - - - 273 

Clout the Caldron ----- igg 

Corn Rigs are bonie --------- 231 

Craigie-burn Wood -------,- 234 

Cromlet's lilt ------- --- 226 

Daintie Davie - - - - - - -- -- - 304 

Donald and Flora ----------273 

Down the burn, Davie --------- 222 

Dumbarton Drums ---------- 246 

Duncan Grey ----------. 246 

Eppie M'Nabb ----------- 30O 

Fairest of the fair ---------- 209 

Fife, and a' the Lands about it ------239 

For 



190 

Page 

For a' that and a' that 282 

For lake of Gold 248 

Frae the Friends, and Land I love ----- 286 

Fye gae rub her o'er wi' Strae ------ 202 

Galloway Tarn 295 

Gill Morice _----26l 

Go to the Ewe-bughts, Marion ------ 229 

Gramachree ------------218 

Here's a health to my true love ------ 248 

He stole my tender heart away ------ 209 

Hey tutti taiti 249 

Highland Laddie ---------- 207 

Hughie Graham ---------- 287 

I do confess thou art sae fair ------- 292 

I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing - - 242 

I had a Horse and I had nae mair ----- 257 

I love my Jean ----------- 273 

I'll never leave thee --------- 230 

I'm o'er young to marry yet ------- QS5 

It is na, Jean, thy bonie face ------- 300 

I wish my love were in a Mire ------ 217 

Jamie come try me ---------- 272 

Jamie Gay ------------ 202 

Jockie's gray breeks --------- 205 

Johnie Cope ----------- 272 

Johnie Faa, or, the Gypsie Laddie ----- ^55 

John Hay's b9nie Lassie -------- 223 

John o' Badenyond ---------- 280 

Killiecrankie ------------ 283 

Kirk wad let me be ---------- 252 

Laddie lie near me---------- 263 

Leader Haughs and Yarrow ------- 265 

Levyis Gordon ----------- 229 

Lord Ronald my Son --------- 296 

Mary's 



191 

Page 

Mary's Dream ----------- 2]6 

Mary Scott, the flower of Yarrow ----- 220 

May Eve, or, Kate of Aberdeen ------212 

Mill Mill, O - 244 

My ain kind dearie, O -- 220 

My bonnie Mary 27 1 

Mcpherson's farewel 235 

My Dearie, if thou die -------- 228 

My dear Jockie ----------- 202 

My Harry was a gallant gay - - - - - - - 264 

My Heart's in the Highlands 276 

My Jo, Janet ---- -- 236 

My Tocher's the Jewel - 291 

Musing on the roaring Ocean ------- 254 

Nancy's Ghost --.- qQq 

O were I on Parnassus' Hill -------274 

O'er the Moor amang the Heather ----- 296 

Oh, ono Chrio 230 

Oh, open the Door, Lord Gregory ----- 196 

Polwarth on the Green -------- 234 

Rattlin', roarin' Willie 7 -------- 259 

Raving Winds around her blowing ----- 250 
Roslin Castle ------.-.-. igj 

Sae merry as we twa hae been ------ 224 

Saw ye Johnnie cummin ? quo' she ----- igg 

Saw. ye my Peggy ?--------.„ 2(X3 

She rose and let me in--- ------ 228 

Since robb'd of all that charm'd my views - - - 25 1 

Strathallan's Lament -----_-.. 23(^ 

Strephon and Lydia -----_.«. 234 

Tak your auld Cloak about ye ----.. q^^q 

Tarry woo ------------218 

The banks of the Tweed --------igg 

The 



192 

Page 

The banks of the Devon 243 

banks of Forth 225 

beds of sweet Roses --------197 

birks of Aberfeldy -- - 237 

black Eagle ----- 272 

blaithrie o't 210 

blithsome bridal --------- 223 

bonie banks of Ayr -------- 279 

bonie brucket lassie -------^ 224 

bonie lass made the bed to me - - - - - 256 

bonie wee Thing ------^ -- 303 

bridal o't ----- 277 

braes o' Ballochmyle -------277 

bush aboon Traquair -------- 225 

captive Ribband --------- 274 

collier's bonie Lassie --------219 

day returns, my bosom burns^ ----- 269 

ewie wi' the crooked Horn ----- - 284 

flowers of Edinburgh -------201 

gaberlunzie Man --------- 270 

gardener wi' his Paidle ------- 268 

gentle Swain ---------- 209 

happy Marriage --------- 205 

highland Character -------- 265, 

highland Lassie, O -------- 237 

highland Queen --------- 195 

lass of Liviston ------- -- 204 

lass of Peat/s Mill --------205 

last time I cam o'er the Moor ----- 204 

lazy Mist ----272 

maid that tends the Goats - - - - - - 217 

mucking of Geordie's Byar ------231 

posie -------------214 

rantin Dog the Daddie o't ------ 278 

shepherd's preference ------- 279 

soger Laddie ---------- 294 

tailorfellthro' the Bed, thimble an' a' - - - 265 

The 



193 

Page 

The tears I shed must ever fall ------ 302 

tears of Scotland --------- 241 

tither morn ----------- 303 

tumimspike ------ --- qoQ 

young Man's Dream -------- 239 

Then Guidwife count the Lawin ------291 

There'll never be peace 'till Jamie comes hame - 292 

There's a Youth in this City 274 

There's nae luck about the House - - - - - 217 

This is no mine ain House -------- 267 

Thou art gane awa ----- -_-_ 302 

Tibbie Dunbar ----_262 

Tibbie I hae seen the Day ------- 26O 

To daunton me----------- 255 

To the Rose-bud ---- 293 

To the Weavers gin ye go - - - - - - - - 233 

TodlenHame - 277 

Tranent Muir - - - - - - -^- - - - 232 

TuUochgorum --------^---281 

Tune your Fiddles ---------- 26O 

Tvieedside ------------ 213 

Up and v/arn a' Willie --------- 257 

Up in the Morning early -------- 240 

Wa'y, Waly - - ----- 245 

Waukin o' the Fauld --------- 232 

We ran, and they ran --------- 245 

Were na my Heart light I wad die ----- 239 

iJWha is that at my Bower Door ? ------301 

^hat will I do gin my Hoggie die ? ----- 241 

'^hen I upon thy bosom lean ------- 263 

■here braving angry Winter's Storms - - - - 259 

lere wad bonie Annie lie ?------ - 295 

lie brew'd a peck o' Maut ------283 

Ye^jods, was Strephon's picture blest - - - - 25 1 

Yon*wild mossy Mountains ------- 298 

Young Damon -----------251 



194 



" In the changes of language these Songs may no 
doubt suffer change ; but the associated strain of Senti- 
ment and of Music will perhaps survive, while the clear 
stream sweeps down the Vale of Yarrow, or the 
yellow broom waves on the Cowden Knowes." 

Dr. Currie. 



195 



STRICTURES, fcc. 



The Highland Queen. 

The Highland Q^ueen, music and poetry, was 
composed by a Mr. M' Vicar, purser of the Sol- 
bay man of war. — This I had from Dr. Black- 
lock. 



Bess the Gawkie, 

This song shews that the Scottish Muses did 
HOt all leave us when we lost Ramsay and Os- 
wald,^ as I have good reason to believe that the 

verses 



* Oswald was a miisic-seller in London, about the year 
1750. He published a large collection of Scotish tunes, 
which he called the Caledonian Pocket Companion. Mr. 
Tytler observes, that his genius in composition, joined to 
his taste in the performance of Scotish music, was natu- 
ral and pathetic, Ritson, 



196 

verses and music are both posterior to the days of 
these two gentlemen* — It is a beautiful song, and 
in the genuine Scots taste. We have few pas- 
toral compositions, I mean the pastoral of nature, 
that are equal to this. 



Oh^ open the Door^ Lord Gregory. 

It is somewhat singular, that in Lanark, Ren- 
frew, Ayr, Wigton, Kirkcudbright, and Dum- 
fries-shires, there is scarcely an old song or tune 
which, from the title, 8cc, can be guessed to be- 
long to, or be the production of these countries. 
This, I conjecture, is one of these very few ; as 
the ballad, which is a long one, is called both 
by tradition and in printed collections, *' The 
Lass o' Lochroyan," which I take to be Loch- 
royan, in Galloway. 



The Banks of the Tweed. 

This song is one of the many attempts that 
English composers have made to imitate the 
Scottish manner, and which I shall, in these 
strictures, beg leave to distinguish by the appel- 
lation of Anglo-Scottish productions. The mu- 
sic is pretty good, but the verses are just above 
contempt. 

"~^ The 



197 



The Beds of sweet Roses, 

This song, as far as I know, for the first time 
appears here in print — When I was a boy, it 
was a very popular song in Ayrshire. I remem- 
ber to have heard those fanatics, the Buchanites,* 
sing some of their nonsensical rhymes, which they 
dignify with the name of hymns, to this air.-f 



Roslin Castle, 



These beautiful verses were the production 
of a Richard Hewit,:|: a young man that Dr. Black- 
lock, 



* A set of itinerant fanatics in the West of Scotland, so 
denominated from their leader, Mrs. Buchan. 

-)• Shakspeare in his Winter's Tale, speaks of a Puritan 
who " sings psalms to hornpipes'* 

J Richard Hewit, Ritson observes, was taken when a 
boy, during the residence of Dr. Blacklock in Cumber- 
land, to lead him. — He addressed a copy of verses to the 

Doctor 



19S 

lock, to whom I am indebted for the anecdote, 
kept for some years as an amanuensis. I do not 
know who is the author of the second song to 
the tune. Tytler, in his amusing history of 
Scots music, gives the air to Oswald ; but in Os- 
wald's own collection of Scots tunes, where he 
affixes an asterisk to those he himself composed, 
he does not make the least claim to the tune. 



Saw ye Johnnie cummin? quo' she. 

This song for genuine humor in the verses, 
and lively originality in the air, is unparalleled. 
I take it to be very old. 



Clout 



Doctor on quitting his service.— Among the verses are the 
following lines : 

'' How oft these plains Fve thoughtless prest ; 
" Whistled or sung some Fair distrest, 
" When fate would steal a tear." 

^' Alluding," as it said in a note, " to a sort of narrative 
songs, which make no inconsiderable part of the innocent 
amusements with which the country people pass the wintry 
nights, and of which the author of the present piece was a 
faithful rehearser." 

Blacklock's Poems, 1756, Svo, p, 5. 



199 



Clout the Caldron. 

A TRADITION is mentioned in the Bee, that 
the second Bishop Ghisholm, of Dunblane, used 
to say, that if he were going to be hanged, no- 
thing would soothe his mind so much by the way, 
as to hear Clout the Caldron played. 

I have met with another tradition, that the 
old song to this tune 

" Hae ye ony pots or pans, 
" Or onie broken chanlers," 

was composed on one of the Kenmure family, in 
the Cavalier times ; and alluded to an amour he 
had, while under hiding, in the disguise of an 
itinerant tinker. The air is also known by the 
name of ^ 

" The Blacksmith and his Apron,*' 

which from the rhythm, seems to have been a 
line of some old song to the tune. 



Saw 



200 



Saw ye niiy Peggy > 

This charming song is much older, and in- 
deed superior, to Ramsay's verses, " The Toast,'* 
as he calls them. There is another set of the 
words, much older still, and which I take to be 
the original one, but though it has a very great 
deal of merit it is not quite ladies' reading. 

The original words, for they can scarcely be 
called verses, seem to be as follows ; a song fa- 
miliar from the cradle to every Scottish ear. 

Saw ye my Maggie, 
Saw ye my Maggie, 
Saw ye my Maggie 

Linkin o'er the lea ? 

High kilted was she, 
High kilted was she, 
High kilted was she, 

Her coat aboon her knee. 

What mark has your Maggie, 
What mark has your Maggie, 
What mark has your Maggie 

That ane may ken her be ? (by) 

Though 



501 

Though it by no means follows that the sil- 
liest verses to an air must, for that reason, be the 
original song ; yet I take this ballad, of which I 
have quoted part, to be the old verses. The two 
songs in Ramsay, one of them evidently his own, 
are never to be met with in the fire-side circle of 
our peasantry ; while that which I take to be the 
old song, is in every shepherd's mouth. Ramsay, 
I suppose, had thought the old verses unworthy 
of a place in his collection. 



The Flowers of Edinburgh. 

This song is one of the many effusions of 
Scots jacobitism. — The title, '' Flowxrs of Edin- 
burgh," has no manner of connection with the 
present verses, so I suspect there has been an 
older set of words, of which the title is all that 
remains. 

By the bye, it is singular enough that the 
Scottish Muses were all Jacobites. — I have paid 
more attention to every description of Scots 
songs than perhaps any body living has done, 
and I do not recollect one single stanza, or even 
the title of the most trifling Scots air, which has 
the least panegyrical reference to the families of 
Nassau or Brunswick ; while there are hundreds 

p satirizing 



S02 

satirizing them.— This may be thought no pane- 
gyric on the Scots Poets, but I mean it as such. 
For myself, I would always take it as a compli- 
ment to have it said, that my heart ran before my 

head and surely the gallant though unfortunate 

house of Stewart, the kings of our fathers for so 
many heroic ages, is a theme * * * =^ 
* * * * 



Jamie Gay. 



Jamie Gay is another and a tolerable Anglo 
Scottish piece. 



My dear Jockie. 
Another Anglo-Scottish production. 



Fye^ gae rub her o'er jvi Strae. 

It is self-evident that the first four lines of this 
song are part of a song more ancient than Ram- 
say's beautiful verses which are annexed to them. 
As music is the language of nature ; and poetry, 

particularly 



203 

particularly songs, are always less or more lo- 
calized (if i may be allowed the verb) by some 
of the modifications of time and place, this is 
the reason why so many of our Scots airs have 
outlived their original, and perhaps many subse- 
quent sets of verses ; except a single name, or 
phrase, or sometimes one or two lines, simply to 
distinguish the tunes by. 

To this day among people who know nothing 
of Ramsay's verses, the following is the song, 
and all the song that ever I heard : — * 

Gin ye meet a bonie lassie, 
Gie her a kiss and let her gae ; 

But gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, 
Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae. 

Fye, gae rub her, rub her, rub her, 
Fye gae rub her o'er wi' strae : 

An' gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, 
Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae. 



P ^ The 



504 



The Lass o' Liviston. 

The old song, in three eight line stanzas, h 
Avell known, and has merit as to wit and hu- 
mour; but it is rather unfit for insertion. — ^It 
begins, 

The bonie lass o' Liviston, 

Her name ye ken, her name ye ken. 

And she has written in her contract. 
To lie her lane, to lie her lane. ' 
Sec. 8cc. 



The last Time I came o'er the Moor. 

Ramsay found the first line of this song, which 
had been preserved as the title of the Charming 
air, and then composed the rest of the verses to 
^suit that line. This has always a finer effect 
than composing English words, or words with 
an idea foreign to the spirit of the old title. 
Where old titles of songs convey any idea at 
all, it will generally be found to be quite in the 
spirit of the air. 



Jo$kie's 



ms 



Jackie's Gray jBretks. 

Though this has certainly every evidence of 
being a Scottish air, yet there is a well-known 
tune and song in the North of Ireland, called, 
The Weaver and his Shuttle 0, which though 
sung much quicker, is every note the very 
iune. 



The Happy Marriage, 



Another, but very pretty, Anglo-Scottish 



piece. 



The Lass of Peaty s MilL 

In Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland, 
this song is localized (a veirb I must use for want 
of another to express my idea) somewhere in the 
north of Scotland, and likewise is claimed by 
Ayrshire. — The following anecdote I had from 
the present Sir William Cunningham of Robert- 
land, who had it from the last John Earl of Lou- 

don> 



206 

don. — ^The then Earl of Loudon and father to 
Earl John before mentioned, had Ramsay at 
Loudon, and one day walking together by 
the banks of Irvine water, near New-Mills, at a 
place yet called Peaty's Mill, they were struck 
with the appearance of a beautiful country girl. 
His lordship observed that she would be a fine 
theme for a song. — Allan lagged behind in re- 
turning to Loudon Castle, and at dinner pro- 
duced this identical song."^' 



The Turnimspike, 



There is a stanza of this excellent song for 
local humour, omitted in this set, — -where I have 
placed the asterisms.t 

They tak the horse then by te head, 
And tere tey mak her stan*, man ; 

Me tell tem, me hae seen te day, 
Tey no had sic comman', man. 



Highland 



* Tu'liis anecdote is somewhat differently told in Dr. 
Currie's ed, vol. iv. No. 19. 

•\ Burns has placed the asterisms between the 9th and 
10th verses. 



201 



Highland Laddie. 

As this was a favorite theme with our later 
Scottish muses, there are several airs and songs of 
that name. That which I take to be the oldest, is 
to be found in the Musical Museum^ beginning, 
" I hae been at Crookie-den." — One reason for 
my thinking so is, that Oswald has it in his col- 
lection by the name of, " The auld Highland 
laddie." — It is also known by the name of, 
" Jinglan Johnie," which is a well-known song 
of four or five stanzas, and seems to be an earlier 
song than Jacobite times. — As a proof of this, it 
is little known to the peasantry by the name of 
" Highland Laddie ;" while every body knows 
'* Jinglan Johnie." The song begins 

Jinglan John, the meickle man 

He met wi' a lass was blythe and bonie. 

Another Highland Laddie is also in the Mu- 
seum, vol. V. which I take to be Ramsay's ori- 
ginal, as he has borrowed the chorus — " O my 
bonie Highland lad, 8cc." It consists of three 
stanzas, besides the chorus ; and has humor in 

its 



^08 

its composition — it is an excellent but isome- 
what licentious song. — It begins 

As I cam o'er Cairney-Mount, 

And down amang the blooming heather, 8cc, 

This air, and the common Highland Laddie, 
seem only to be different sets. 

Another Highland Laddie, also in the Mu- 
seum, vol. V. is the tune of several Jacobite 
fragments. — One of these old songs to it, only 
exists, as far as I know, in these four lines — - 

Whare hae ye been a' day, 

Bonie laddie, Highland laddie ? 

Down the back o' Bell's brae, 

Courtin Maggie, courtin Maggie. 

Another of this name is Dr. Arne's beautiful 
air, called, the new Highland Laddie.* 



rhe 



* The following observation was found in a memo- 
randum book belonging to the poet. 

The Highlander s\Fr ay er, at Sheriff-Muir, 

" O L — d be thou with us ; but, if thou be not with us, 
be not against us ; but leave it between the red coats 
and usT 



209 

The Gentle Srvain. 

To sing such a beautiful air to such execrable 
verses, is downright =«= * ^' Qf common 
sense 1 The Scots verses indeed are tolerable. 



He stole my tender Heart away. 

This is an Anglo-Scottish production, but by 
no means a bad one. 



Fairest of the Fair, 

It is too barefaced to take Dr. Percy's charm- 
ing song, and by the means of transposing a few 
English words into Scots, to offer to pass it for 
a Scots song. — I was not acquainted with the 
Editor until the first volume was nearly finished, 
else, had I known in time, I would have pre- 
vented such an impudent absurdity. 



The 



f 10 



l^he Blaithrie o't.'^ 

The following is a set of this song, which 
was the earliest song I remember to have got by 
heart. When a child, an old woman sung it 
to me, and I picked it up, every word, at first 
hearing. 

Willy weel I mind, I lent you my hand 

To sing you a song which you did me command ^ 
But my memory's so bad, I had almost forgot 
* That you called it the gear and the blaithrie o*t. — 

I'll not sing about confusion, delusion, or pride, 
ril sing about a laddie was for a virtuous bride ; 
For virtue is an ornament that time will never rot, 
And preferable to gear and the blathrie o't. — 

Tho' my lassie hae nae scarlets or silks to put on, 
We envy not the greatest that sits upon the 
throne ; 

1 wad rather hae my lassie, tho' she cam in her 

smock. 
Than a princess wi' the gear and the blathrie o't.— 

Tho' 



* " Shame fall the geer and the blad\y o^t" is the 

turn of an old Scottish song, spoken when a young 

handsome girl marries an old man, upon the account of his 

wealth. 

Kelly s Scots Proverbs, p. 296. 



52 1 1 

Tho' we hae nae horses or minzie* at command, 
We will toil on our foot, and we'll work wi' 

our hand ; 
And when wearied without rest, we'll find it sweet 

in any spot, 
And we'll value not the gear and theblathrie o't. — 

If we hae ony babies, we'll cotmt them as lent ; 
Hae we less, hae we mair, we will ay be content ; 
For they say they hae mair pleasure that wins but 

a groat. 
Than the miser wi' his gear and the blathrie o't. — - 

I'll not meddle wi' th' affairs o' the kirk or the 

queen ; 
They're nae matters for a sang, let them sink 

let them swim, 
On your kirk I'll near encroach, but I'll hold it 

still remote, 
Sae tak this for the gear and the blathrie o't. 



May 



* Minzie — retinue — followers. 



212 



May Eve, or Kate of Aberdeen. 

Kate of Aberdeen, is, I believe, the work of 
poor Cunningham the player ; of whom the fol- 
lowing anecdote, though told before, deserves a 
recital. A fat dignitary of the church coming 
past Cunningham one Sunday as the poor poet 
was busy plying a fishing-rod in some stream 
near Durham, his native country,* his reve- 
rence reprimanded Cunningham very severely 
for such an occupation on such a day. The poor 
poet, with that inoffensive gentleness of man- 
ners which was his peculiar characteristic, re- 
plied, that he hoped God and his reverence 
would forgive his seeming profanity of that sa- 
cred day, " a^ he had no dinner to eat, hut what 
lay at the bottom of that pool /" This, Mr. Woods, 
the player, who knew Cunningham well, and 
esteemed him much, assured me was true. 



Tweed- 



* Cunningham was a native of Ireland. — See Dr, An^ 
denon's Life of Cunmngham, British Foets, vol. x. 



513 



Tweed- Side. 

In Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, he tells us 
that about thirty of the songs in that publication 
were the works of some young gentlemen of his 
acquaintance ; which songs are marked with the 
letters D. C. Sec— Old Mr. Tytler, of Wood- 
houselee, the worthy and able defender of the 
beauteous queen of Scots, told me that the songs 
marked C, in the Tea-table, were the composition 
of a Mr. Crawford, of the house of Achnames, 
who was afterwards unfortunately drowned com- 
ing from France. — As Tytler was most intimately 
acquainted with Allan Ramsay, I think the anec- 
dote may be depended on. Of consequence, the 
beautiful song of Tweed- Side, is Mr. Crawford's, 
and indeed does great honor to his poetical ta- 
lents. He was a Robert Crawford; the Mary 
he celebrates, was a Mary Stewart, of the Cas- 
tle-Milk family,* afterwards married to a. Mr. 
John Ritchie. 

I have 



♦ If the reader refers to the note in page 221, he will 
there find that Mr, Walter Scott states this song to have 
been written in honour of another lady, a Miss Mary 
Liliat Sc9tt, 



514 

I have seen a song, calling itself the original 
Tweed-Side, and said to have been composed by 
a Lord Yester. It consisted of two stanzas, of 
which I still recollect the first. — 

When Maggy and I was acquaint, 

I carried my noddle fu' hie ; 
Nae lintwhite on a' the green plain, 

Nor gowdspink sae happy as me : 
But I saw her sae fair, and I lo*ed ; 

I woo'd, but I came nae great speed ; 
So now I maun wander abroad, 

And lay my banes far frae the Tweed. — - 



The Posie. 



It appears evident to me that Oswald com- 
posed his Roslin Castle on the modulation of 
this air.^ — In the second part of Oswald's, in the 
three first bars, he has either hit on a wonderful 
similarity to, or else he has entirely borrowed 
the three first bars of the old air; 'and the close 
of both tunes is almost exactly the same. The 
old verses to which it was sung, when I took 

down 



215 

dowii the notes from a country girl's voice had 
no great merit. — The following is a specimen : 

There was a pretty may* and a milkin she went ; 
Wi' her red rosy cheeks, and her coal-black 
hair: 
And she has met a young man a comin o'er the 
bent, 

With a double and adieu to thee fair may. 

f 

O where are ye goin, my ain pretty may, 

Wi' thy red rosy cheeks, and thy coal-black 
hair? 

Unto the yowes a milkin, kind sir, she says, 
With a double and adieu to thee fair may. 

What if I gang alang wi' thee, my ain pretty may, 
Wi' thy red rosy cheeks, and thy coal-black 
hair ; 
Wad I be aught the warse o' that, kind sir, she 
says, ^ 

With a double and adieu to thee fair may. 
&c. &c. 



Mary's 



iliaV-~Maid-.Yoiing Woman. 



^16 

Mary's Dream,"^ 

The Mary here alluded to is generally sup- 
posed to be Miss Mary Macghie, daughter to the 
Laird of Airds, in Galloway. The Poet was a 
Mr. Alexander Lowe, who likewise wrote an- 
other beautiful song, called Pompey's Ghost. — 
I have seen a poetic epistle from him in North 
America, where he now is, or lately was, to a 
lady in Scotland. — By the strain of the verses, 
it appeared that they allude to some love dis- 
appointment. 



The 



* This is the pathetic song beginning — 

" The moon had climb'd the highest hill, 

Which rises o'er the source of Dee, 
And from the eastern summit shed 

Her silver light on towV and tree : 
When Mary laid her down to sleep, 

Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea ; 
When soft and low a voice was he^d. 

Saying, Mary weep no mom^jw-me." 



217 
The Maid that tends the Goats, 

BY MR. DUDGEON. 

This Dudgeon is a respectable farmer's son 
in Berwickshire. 



/ wish my Love were in a Mire, 

I NEVER heard more of the words of this 
old song than the title. 



Allan Water, 



This Allan Water, which the composer of 
the music has honored with the name of the air, 
I have been told is Allan Water, in Strafhallan. 



There's nae Luck about the House. 

This is one of the most beautiful songs in the 
Scots, or any other language. — The two lines, 

" And will I see his face a^ain I 
^' And will I hear him speak 1" 

Q as 



21S 

as well as the two preceding ones, are unequal- 
led almost by any thing I ever heard or read : 
and the lines, 

" The present moment is our ain, 
" The neist we never saw"— 

are worthy of the first poet. — It is long posterior 
to Ramsay's days. — About the year 177 1, or 72, 
it came first on the streets as a ballad ; and I sup- 
pose the composition of the song was not much 
anterior to that period. 



Tarry Woo. 



This is a very pretty song ; but I fancy that 
the first half stanza, as well as the tune itself, are 
much older than the rest of the words. 



Gramachree. 



The song of Gramachree was composed by a 
Mr. Poe, a counsellor at law in Dublin. This 
anecdote I had from a gentleman who knew the 

lady, 



519 

lady, the " Molly," who is the subject of the 
song, and to whom Mr. Poe sent the first manu- 
script of his most beautiful verses. I do not re- 
member any single line that has more true pathos 
than — 

" How can she break that honest heart that wears 
her in its core!" 

But as the song is Irish, it had nothing to do 
in this collection. 



The Collier s Bonie Lassie, 

The first half stanza is much older than the 
days of Ramsay. — The old words began thus : 

The collier has a dochter, and, O, she's wonder 

bonie ! 
A laird he was that sought her, rich baith in lands 

and money. 
She wad na hae a laird, nor wad she be a lady ; 
But she wad hae a collier, the color o' her 

daddie — 



q 2 My 



220 



Mt/ ain kind Dearie— 0. 

The old words of this song are omitted here, 
though much more beautiful than these inserted ; 
which were mostly composed by poor Fergusson, 
in one of his merry humors. — The old words 
be2:an thus : 



'O* 



I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O, 
I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O, 
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wat, 

And I were ne'er sae weary, O, 
I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie, O. — 



Mary Scott ^ the Flower of Yarrow J''' 

Mr. Robertson in his statistical account of 
the parish of Selkirk, says, that Mary Scott, the 
Flower of Yarrow, was descended from the Dry- 
hope, 



* A very interesting account of " The Flower of Yarrow*' 
appears in a note to Mr. Walter Scott's " Marmion" The 

Editor 



221 

hope, and married into the Harden family. Her 
daughter was married to a predecessor of the pre- 
sent Sir Francis Elliot of Stobbs, and of the late 
Lord Heathfield. 

There is a circumstance in their contract of 
marriage that merits attention, as it strongly 
marks the predatory spirit of the times. — The 
father-in-law agrees to keep his daughter, for 

some 



Editor has so often experienced that gentleman's obliging 
disposition, that he presumes on his pardon for transcribe 
ing it. 

" Near the lower extremity of Saint Mary's Lake, (a 
beautiful sheet of water, forming the reservoir from which 
the Yarrow takes its source,) are the ruins of Dryhope 
tower, the birth-place of Mary Scott, daughter of Phi- 
lip Scott of Dryhope, and famous by the traditional name 
of the Flower of Yarrow. She was married to Walter 
Scott of Harden, no less renowned for his depredations, 
than his bride for her beauty. Her romantic appellation 
was, in latter days, with equal justice, conferred on Miss 
Mary Lilias Scott, the last of the elder branch of the Har- 
den family." Mr. Scott proceeds to relate that " he well 
remembers the talent and spirit of the latter Flower of 
Yarrow, though age had then injured the charms which 
procured her the name ; and that the words usually sung to 
the air of " Tweed-side," beginning, ' What beauties does 
Flora disclose,' were composed in her honour." 

Notes to Canto H. p. 38 



22U 



some time after the marriage ; for which the son- 
in-law binds himself to give him the profits of 
the first Michaelmas -moon !* 



Down the Burn, Dane. 

I HAVE been informed, that the tune of 
" Down the Burn, Davie," was the composition 
of David Maigh, keeper of the blood slough 
hounds, belonging to the Laird of Riddel, in 
Tweeddale. 



Blink o'er the Burn, sweet Bettie. 

The old words, all that I remember are, — 

Blink over the burn sweet Betty, 

It is a cauld winter night ; 
It rains, it hails, it thunders. 

The moon she gies nae light : 
It's a' for the sake o' sweet Betty, 

That ever I tint my way ; 
Sweet, let me lie beyond thee 

Until it be break o' day. — 

O, Betty 



* The time when the moss-troopers and cattle-drivers 
on the borders, begin their nightly depredations. 



^23 

O, Betty will bake my bread, 
^ And Betty will brew my ale, 
And Betty will be my love. 

When I come over the dale : 
Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 

Blink over the burn to me, 
And while I hae life, dear lassie. 

My ain sweet Betty thou's be. — - 



IThe Blithsome Bridal. 



I "FIND the Blithsome Bridal, in James Wat- 
son's collection of Scots poems, printed at Edin- 
burgh, in 1706. This collection, the publisher 
says, is the first of its nature which has been 
published in our own native Scots dialect — it is 
now extremely scarce. 



John Hays Bonie Lassie. 

John Hay's Bonie Lassie was daughter of 
John Hay, Earl or Marquis of Tweeddale, and 
late Countess Dowager of Roxburgh. — She died 
at Broomlands, near Kelso, some time between 
the years 1720 and 1740. 



The 



^24 



The Bonie Brucket Lassie. 

The two first lines of this song are all of it 
that is old. The rest of the song, as well as 
those songs in the Museum marked T, are the 
works of an obscure, tippling, but extraordina- 
ry body of the name of Tytler, commonly known 
by the name of Balloon Tytler, from his having 
projected a balloon : A mortal, who though he 
drudges about Edinburgh as a common printer, 
with leaky shoes, a sky-lighted hat, and knee- 
buckles as unlike as George-by-the-grace-of- 
God, and Solomon-the-Son-of-David ; yet that 
same unknown drunken mortal is author and 
compiler of three-fourths of Elliot's pompous 
Encyclopedia Britannica, which he composed at 
half a guinea a week !* 



Sae merry as we twa ha'e been, 

This song is beautiful. — The chorus in parti- 
cular 



* A short sketch of this eccentric character may be 
seen at the end of these Remarks on Scottish Songs. 



255 

cular is truly pathetic. I never could learn any 
thing of its author. 

Chorus. 

Sae merry as we twa ha'e been, 

Sae merry as we twa hae been ; 
My heart it is like for to break, 

When I think on the days we ha'e seen. 



The Banks of Forth. 
This air is Oswald's. 



^ The Bush aboon J'raquair. 

This is another beautiful song of Mr. Craw- 
ford's composition. In the neighbourhood of 
Traquair, tradition still shews the old " Bush ;" 
which, when I saw it in the year 1787, was 
composed of eight or nine ragged birches. The 
Earl of Traquair has planted a clump of 
trees near by, which he calls " The new 
Bush." 



Cromlet's 



526 



Cromlet's Lilt. 

The following interesting account of this 
plaintive dirge was communicated to Mr. Rid- 
del by Alexander Frazer Tytler, Esq. of Wood- 
houselee. 

" In the latter end of the l6th century, the 
Chisolms were proprietors of the estate of Grom- 
lecks (now possessed by the Drummonds.) The 
eldest son of that family was very much attach- 
ed to a daughter of Sterling of Ardoch, com- 
monly known by the name of Fair Helen of 
Ardoch. — 

" At that time the opportunities of meeting 
betwixt the sexes were more rare, consequently 
more sought after than now ; and the Scottish 
ladies, far from priding themselves on extensive 
literature, were thought sufficiently book-learned 
if they could make out the Scriptures in their 
mother tongue. Writing was entirely out of 
the line of female education : At that period 
the most of our young men of family sought a 
fortune, or found a grave, in France. Cromlus, 
when he went abroad to the war, was obliged to 
leave tbe management of his correspondence 
with his mistress to a lay brother of the monas- 

try 



527 

try of Dumblain, in the immediate neighbour- 
hood of Cromleck, and near Ardoch. This 
man, unfortunately, was deeply sensible of He 
len's charms. He artfully prepossessed her with 
stories to the disadvantage of Cromlus ; and by 
misinterpreting or keeping up the letters and 
messages intrusted to his care, he entirely irri- 
tated both. All connection was broken off be- 
twixt them : Helen was inconsolable, and Crom- 
lus has left behind him, in the ballad called 
Cromlet's Lilt, a proof of the elegance of his 
genius, as well as the steadiness of his love. 

" When the artful monk thought time had 
sufficiently softened Helen's sorrow, he pro- 
posed himself as a lover : Helen was obdurate : 
but at last, overcome by the persuasions of her 
brother with whom she lived, and who, having 
a family of thirty-one children, was probably 
very well pleased to get her off his hands. — She 
submitted, rather than consented to the ceremo- 
ny; but there her compliance ended; and, when 
forcibly put into bed, she started quite frantic 
from it, screaming out that after three gentle taps 
on the wainscot, at the bed head, she heard 
Cromlus's voice, crying Helen^ Helen, mind me. 
Cromlus soon after coming home, the treachery 
of the confident was discovered, — her marriage 

disannulled, 



S2$ 



disannulled, — and Helen became lady Crom- 
leeks." 

N. B. Marg. Murray, mother to these thirty- 
one children, was daughter to Murray of Strewn, 
one of the seventeen sons of Tullybardine, and 
whose youngest son, commonly called the 
Tutor of Ardoch, died in the year 1715? 
aged 111 years. 



My Dearie^ if thou die. 



Another beautiful sons; of Crawford's. 



She rose and let me in. 



The old set of tfiis song, which is still to be 
found in printed collections, is much prettier 
than this ; but somebody, I believe it was Ram- 
say, took it into his head to clear it of some 
seeming indelicacies, and made it at once more 
chaste and more dull. 



Go 



'^i9 



Go to the Ewe-blights^^ Marion, 

I am not sure if this old and charming air be 
of the South, as is commonly said, or of the 
North of Scotland. — ^There is a song apparently 
as antient as, " Ewe-bughts Marion," which 
sings to the same tune, and is evidently of the 
North. — It begins thus : 

The Lord o' Gordon had three dochters, 

Mary, Marget, and Jean, 
They wad na stay at bonie Castle Gordon, 

But awa to Aberdeen. 



Lewis Gordon.^- 



This air is a proof how one of our Scots 
tunes comes to be composed out of another. I 

have 



* Sheep-folds. 

t The supposed author of Lewis Gordon was a Mr, 
Geddes, priest, at Shenval, in the Ainzie. R. B, 



530 

have one of the earliest copies of the song, and 
it has prefixed, 

'^ Tune of Tarry Woo" — 

Of which tune, a different set has insensibly 
varied into a different air. — To a Scots critic, 
the pathos of the line, 

" Tho' his back be at the wa," 

— must be very striking. — It needs not a Jacobite 
prejudice to be affected with this song. 



Oh ono Chrio.* 



Dr. Blacklock informed me that this song was 
composed on the 'infamous massacre of Glen- 
coe. 



ril never leave thee. 

* This is another of Crawford's songs, but I do 
not think in his happiest manner. — What an ab- 
surdity, to join such names, as Adonis and 
Mary together. 



Corn 



* A corruption of hone a ri^ signifying — " Alas for 
the prince, or chief." 



231 



Corn Rigs are bonie. 

All the old words that ever I could meet to 
this air were the follov/ing, which seem to have 
been an old chorus. 

O corn rigs and rye rigs, 

O corn rigs are bonie ; 
And where'er you meet a bonie lass, 

Preen up her cockernony 



The mucking of Geordie's Byar, 

The chorus of this song is old ; the rest is the 
work of Balloon Tytler. 



Bide ye yet. 

There is a beautiful song to this tune be- 
ginning, 

" Alas, my son, you little know" — 

which is the composition of a Miss Jenny Gra- 
ham of Dumfries. 



Waukin 



532 



Waukin o the Fcluld. 

There are two stanzas still sung to this tune, 
which I take to be the original song whence Ram- 
say composed his beautiful song of that name in 
the Gentle Shepherd. — It begins 

O will ye speak at our town, 
As ye come frae the fauld, 8cc. 

I regret that, as in many of our old songs, the 
delicacy of this old fragment is not equal to its 
wit and humor. 



Tranent'Muir, 

"Tranent-Muir," was composed by a Mr, 
Skirvan, a very worthy respectable farmer near 
Haddington. I have heard the anecdote often, 
that Lieut. Smith, whom he mentions in the 

ninth 



533 

ninth stanza,* came to Haddington after the pub- 
lication of the song, and sent a challenge to Skir- 
van to meet him at Haddington, and answer for 
the unworthy manner in which he had noticed 
him in his song. — " Gang awa back," said the 
honest farmer, " and tell Mr. Smith that I hae 
na leisure to come to Haddington ; but tell him 
to come here ; and I'll tak a look o* him, and if 
I think I'm fit to fecht him, I'll fecht him; and 
if no — I'll do as he did — /'// rin axva^ — 



To the Weavers gin ye go. 

The Chorus of this song is old, the rest of it 
is mine. — Here, once for all, let me apologize 

for 



Stanza 9. 

* " And Major Bowie, that worthy soul, 

Was brought down to the ground, man 
His horse being shot, it was his lot 

For to get mony a wound man : 
Lieutenant Smith, of Irish birth, 

Frae whom he calFd for aid, man. 
Being full of dread, lap o'er his head, 

And wadna be gainsaid, man !" 



234 

Tor many silly compositions of mine in this work. 
Many beautiful airs wanted words ; in the hurry 
of other avocations, if I could string a parcel of 
rhymes together any thing near tolerable, I was 
fain to let them pass. He must be an excellent 
poet indeed, whose every performance is ex- 
cellent. 



Polwarth on the Green. 

The author of " Polwarth on the Green," is 
Capt. John Drummond M'Grigor, of the fa- 
mily of Bochaldie. 



Strephon and Lydia, 



The following account of this song I had from 
Dr. Blacklock, 



The Strephon and Lydia mentioned in the song 
were perhaps the loveliest couple of their time. 
The gentleman was commonly known by the name 
of Beau Gibson. The lady was the " Gen- 
tle Jean," celebrated somewhere in Mr. Hamil- 
ton 



235 

ton of Bangour's poems. — having fi equently met 
at public places, they had formed a reciprocal at- 
tachment, which their friends thought danger- 
ous, as their resources were by no means ade- 
quate to their tastes and habits of life. To elude 
the bad consequences of such a connexion, Stre- 
phon was sent abroad with a commission, and 
perished in Admiral Vernon's expedition to 
Carthagena. 

' The author of the song was William Wallace, 
Esq. of Cairnhill, in Ayrshire. 



Tm o'er young to marry yet. 

The chorus of this song is old. — The rest of 
it, such as it is, is mine. 



M'Pherson s Farewell 



M'Pherson, a daring robber, in the begin- 
ning of this century, was condemned to be 

R 5 hanged 



* The words are Burns's— they will be found among 
the poems in this volume. 



hanged at the assizes at Inverness. He is said, 
when under sentence of death, to have composed 
this tune, which he called his own lament, or 
farewel. 

Gow has published a variation of this fine 
tune as his own composition, which he calls? 
" The Princess Augusta.'* 



My Jo, Janet, 



Johnson, the publisher, with a foolish deli- 
cacy, refused to insert the last stanza of this hu- 
morous ballad. 



The Shepherd's Complaint. 

The words by a Mr. R. Scott, from the town 
Qi" neighbourhood of Biggar. 



The 



537 



The Birks of Aberf&ldy. 



I COMPOSED these stanzas standing under the 
falls of Aberfeldy, at, or near, Moness. 



The Highland Lassie^ 0, 

This was a composition of mine in very early 
life, before I was known at all in the world. My 
Highland lassie was a warm-hearted, charming 
young creature as ever blessed a man with gene- 
rous love. After a pretty long tract of the most 
ardent reciprocal attachment, we met by appoint- 
ment, on the second Sunday of May, in a se- 
questered spot by the Banks of Ayr, where we 
spent the day in taking a fare el, before she 
should embark for the West-Highlands, to ar- 
range matters among her friends for our project- 
ed change of life. At the close of Autumn fol- 
lowing she crossed the sea to meet me at Gree- 
nock, where she had scarce landed when she was 
seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my 

dear 



238 

dear girl to the grave in a few days, before I 
could even hear of her illness.* 



Fife 



* There are events in this transitory scene of existence, 
seasons of joy or of sorrow, of despair or of hope, which 
as they powerfully affect us at the time, serve as epochs to 
the history of our lives. They may be termed the trials of 
the heart. — We treasure them deeply in our memory, and 
as time glides silently away they help us to number our days. 
Of this character was the parting of Burns with his High- 
land Mmy, that interesting female, the first object of the 
youthful Poet's love. This adieu was performed with all 
those simple and striking ceremonials which rustic senti- 
ment has devised to prolong tender emotions and to inspire 
awe. The lovers stood on each side of a small purling brook ; 
they laved their hands in its limpid stieam, and holding a 
bible between them, pronounced their vows to be faithful 
to each other. They parted — never to meet again ! 

The anniversary of Mary CamphelVs death, (for that 
was her name,) awakening in the sensitive mind of Burns 
the most lively emotion, he retired from his family, then 
residing on the farm of Eilisland, and wandered, solitary, 
on the banks of the Nith, and about the farm-yard, in the 
extremest agitation of mind, nearly the whole of the night : 
His agitation was so great that he threw himself on the side 
of a corn stack, and there conceived his sublime and ten- 
der elegy — his address To Mary in Heaven. 

E. 



239 



Fife^ and a the Lands about it. 

This song is Dr. Blacklock's. He, as well 
as I, often gave Johnson verses, trifling enough 
perhaps, but they served as a vehicle to the 
music. 



Were na my Heart light I wad die. 

Lord Hailes, in the notes to his collection of 
ancient Scots poems, says that this song was the 
composition of r. Lady Grissel Baillie, daughter 
of the first Earl of Marchmont, and wife of 
George Baillie, of Jerviswood. 



The Young Man's Dream. 

This song is the composition of Balloon 
Tytler. 



Strathallan s Lament 



This air is the composition of one of the 
Avorthicst and best hearted men living — Allan 

Masterton, 



540 

Masterton, Schoolmaster in Edinburgh. As he 
and I were both sprouts of jacobitism, we agreed 
to dedicate the words and air to that cause. 

To tell the matter of fact, except when my 
passions were heated by some accidental cause, 
my jacobitism was merely by way of, vive la 
bagatelU' 



Up in the Morning early. 

The chorus of this is old; the two stanzas 
are mine. 

Up in the mornings no for me, 

Up in the morning early ; 
When a the hills are cover d wi snaw, 

Fm sure it's winter fairly , 

Cold blaws the wind frae east to west, 

The drift is driving sairly ; 
Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blasts 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 



The 



241 

The birds sit chittering in the thorn, 
A' day they fare but sparely; 

And lang's the night frae e'en to morn, 
I'm sure it's winter fairly. 



Up in the morning, 8cc. 



7^he Tears of Scotland, 

Dr. Blacklock told me that Smollett, who was 
at bottom a great jacobite, composed these beau- 
tiful and pathetic verses on the infamous depre- 
dations of the Duke of Cumberland after the 
battle of Gulloden. 



What will I do gin my Hoggie die. 

Dr. Walker, who was Minister at Moffat in 
1772, and is now (1791) Professor of Natural 
History, in the University of Edinburgh ; told 
the following anecdote concerning this air. — He 
said that some gentlemen riding a few years ago, 
through Liddesdale, stopped at a hamlet con- 
sisting of a few houses, called Moss Piatt ; when 

they 



242 

they were struck with this tune, which an old wo- 
man, spinning on a rock at her door, was singing. 
— All she could tell concerning it was, that she 
was taught it when a child, and it was called, 
" What will I do gin my Hoggie die." No per- 
son, except a few females at Moss Piatt, knew this 
fine old tune ; which, in all probability, would 
have been lost, had not one of the gentlemen 
who happened to have a Bute with him, taken 
it down. 



I dream d Hay where Flowers were springing. 

These two stanzas I composed when I was 
seventeen, and are among the oldest of my 
printed pieces. 

I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing, 

Gaily in the sunny beam ; 
List'ning to the wild birds singing, 

By a falling, chrystal stream: 
Straight the sky grew black and daring ; 

Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave ; 
Trees with aged arms were warring, 

O'er the swelling, drumiie wave. 

Such 



243 

Such was my life's deceitful morning/ 

Such the pleasures I enjoy'd ; 
But lang or noon, loud tempests storming 

A' my flow'ry bliss destroy'd. 
Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me, 

She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill : 
Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me, 

I bear a heart shall support me still. 



Ah ! the poor Shepherd's mournful Fate. 
Tune Gallashiels. 

The old title, ''" Sour Plums o' Gallashiels," 
probably was the beginning of a song to this air, 
which is now lost. 

The tune of Gallashiels was composed about 
the beginning of the present century by the 
Laird of Gallashiel's piper. 



The Banks of the Devon. 

These verses were composed on a charming 
girl, a Miss Charlotte Hamilton, who is now 
married to James M'Kitrick Adair, Esq. phy- 
sician. She is sister to my worthy friend, 

Gavin 



244 

Gavin Hamilton, of Mauchline ; and was born 
on the banks of Ayr, but was, at the time I 
wrote these lines, residing at Herveyston, in 
Clackmannanshire, on the romantic banks of the 
little river Devon. — I first heard the air from a 
lady in Inverness, and got the notes taken down 
for this work. 



' Mill, Mill 0.~ 

The original, or at least a song evidently prior 
to Ramsay's, is still extant — It runs thus, 

Chorus, 
The mill, mill 0, and the kill, kill 0, 

And the coggin o' F^ggy s wheel 0, 
The sack and the sieve, and a' she did leave, 

And dancd the miller s reel 0. — 

As I cam down yon waterside, 

And by yon shellin-hill O, 
There I spied a bonie bonie lass, 

And a lass that I lov'd right weel O. — * 



We 



* The remaining two stanzas, though pretty enough, 
partake rather too much of the rude simplicity of the 
*' Olden time" to be admitted here. 



245 



We ran and they ran. 

The author of " We ran and they ran" — was 
a Rev. Mr. Murdoch M'Lennan, minister at 
Cratliie, Dee-side. 



Waly, Waly, 

In the west country I have heard a different 
edition of the 2d stanza. — Instead of the four 
lines, beginning with, " When cockle-shells, 
8cc." the other way ran thus : — 

O wherefore need I busk my head, 
Or wherefore need I kame my hair, 

Sin my fause luve has me forsook, 

And says, he'll never luve me mair. — 



Duncan 



46 



Duncan Grey. 

Dr. Blacklock informed me that he had often 
heard the tradition that this air was composed by 
a carman in Giasffow. 



Dumbarton Drums. 



This is the last of the West Highland airs ; 
and from it, over the whole tract of country to 
the confines of Tweed-side, there is hardly a 
tune or song that one can say has taken its origin 
from any place or transaction in that part of 
Scotland. — The oldest Ayrshire reel, is Stew- 
arton Lasses, which was made by the father of the 
present Sir Walter Montgomery Cunningham, 
alias Lord Lysle ; since which period there has 
indeed been local music in that country in great 
plenty. — Johnie Faa is the only old song which 
I could ever trace as belonging to the extensive 
county of Ayr. 



Cauld 



247 



Cauld Kail in Aberdeen, 

This song is by the duke of Gordon. — The 
old verses are, 

There's cauld Kail* in Aberdeen, 
And Castocics-f in Strathbogie ; 
When ilka lad maun hae his lass, 
Then fye, gie me my coggie.:!: 

CHORUS. 

My coggie, Sirs^ my coggie^ Sirs, 

I cannot want my coggie : 
/ wadna gie my three-girr d cap 

For e'er a quene on Bogie. — 

There's Johnie Smith has got a wife 
That scrimps him o' his coggie. 

If she were mine, upon my life 
I wad douk her in a bogie. — 

My coggie^ Sirs, ire. 



For 



* Kail, coleworts, a plant much used in Scotland for 
pottage. 

•f- Castocks, cabbage stalks. 

J Cog, of which coggie is the diminutive, (according to 
Ramsay,) is a pretty large wooden dish, the country people 
put their pottage in. It is also a drinking vessel of the 
same materials, differing from the bicker in having no 
handle. 



248 



For lake of Gold, 

The country girls in Ayrshire, instead of the 
line — 

She me forsook for a great duke, 
say, 

For Athole's duke she me forsook ; 

which I take to be the original reading. 

These words were composed by the late Dr. 
Austin, physician at Edinburgh. — He had court- 
ed a lady, to whom he was shortly to have been 
married; but the Duke of Athole having seen her, 
became so much in love with her, that he made 
proposals of marriage, which were accepted of, 
and she jilted the doctor. 



Here's a Health to my true Love^ &c. 

This song is Dr. Blacklock's. — He told me 
that tradition gives the air to our James IV. of 
Scotland. 



Hey 



549 



Hey tuiti tail. 

I HAVE met the tradition universally over 
Scotland, and particularly about Stirling, in the 
neighbourhood of the scene, that this air was 
Robert Bruce' ^ march at the battle of Bannock- 
burn.'^ 



Raving 



* It does not seem at all probable that the Scots had 
any martial music in the time of this monarch ; it being 
their custom, at that period, for every man in the host to 
bear a little horn, with the blowing of which, as we are 
told by Froissart, they would make such a horrible noise 
as if all the devils of hell had been among them. It is not 
therefore, likely, that these unpolished warriors would be 
curious 



" to move 



" In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood 
" Of flutes and self recorders." 

These horns, indeed, are the only music ever mentioned 
by Barbour, to whom any particular march would have 
been too important a circumstance to be passed over in 
silence ; so that it must remain a moot point, whether 
Bruce's army were cheared by the sound of even a solitary 
bagpipe. 

See Ritsons Hist, Esmy on Scottish Song. 



550 



Raving Winds around her blomng, 

I COMPOSED these verses on Miss Isabella 
M'Leod of Raza, alluding to her feelings on the 
death of her sister, and the still more melancho- 
ly death of her sister's husband, the late Earl 
of Loudon ; who shot himself out of sheer 
heart-break at some mortifications he suffered, 
owino; to the deransced state of his finances. 



Tak your auld Cloak about ye. 

A PART of this old song according to the En- 
glish set of it, is quoted in Shakspeare/'' 



Te 



* In the drinking scene in Othello — lago sings : 

" King Stephen was a worthy peer, 

His breeches cost him but a crown ; 
He held them sixpence all too dear, 

With that he called the tailor lown ; 
He was a wight of high renown, 

And thou art but of low degree : 
'Tis pride that pulls the country down. 

Then take thine auld cloak about thee." 

The old song from which these stanzas are taken, was 
recovered by Dr. Percy, and preserved by him in his Ue- 
iKiat% of Antient Poetry. E. 



251 

Te Gods, was StrephorCs Picture blest? 
Tune, Fourteenth of October. 

The title of this air shews that it alludes to 
the famous king Crispian, the patron of the ho- 
norable corporation of Shoemakers. — St. Gris- 
pian's day falls on the fourteenth of October, old 
style, as the old proverb tells ; 

" On the fourteenth of October 
*' Was ne'er a sutor * sober. ' 



Since rohb'd of all that charrrCd my Views > 

The old name of this air is, " The blossom 
Q the Raspberry." The song is Dr. Blacklock's> 



Young Damon* 
This air is by Oswald. 



s 5 Kirk 



* Sutor — a Shoemaker. 



252 



Kirk wad let me be. 

Tradition in the western parts of Scot- 
land tells, that this old song, of which there are 
still three stanzas extant, once saved a covenant- 
ing clergyman out of a scrape. It was a little 
prior to the revolution, a period when being a 
Scots c6venanter was being a felon, that one of 
their clergy who was at that very time hunted by 
the merciless soldiery, fell in, by accident, with 
a party of the military. The soldiers were not 
exactly acquainted with the person of the reve- 
rend gentleman of whom they were in search ; 
but, from some suspicious circumstances, they 
fancied that they had got one of that cloth and 
opprobrious persuasion among them in the per- 
son of this stranger. " Mass John," to extri- 
cate himself, assumed a freedom of manners, 
very unlike the gloomy strictness of his sect ; 
and among other convivial exhibitions, sung, (and 
some traditions say, composed on the spur of the 
occasion,) " Kirk wad let me be," with such ef- 
fect, that the soldiers swore he was a d d 

honest fellow, and that it was impossible he could 
belong to those hellish conventicles; and so gave 
him his liberty. 



The 



i 



253 

The first stanza of this song, a little altered, 
is a favorite kind of dramatic interlude acted at 
country weddings, in the south-west parts of the 
kingdom. A young fellow is dressed up like an 
old beggar ; a peruke, commonly made of carded 
tow, represents hoary locks ; an old bonnet ; a 
ragged plaid, orsurtout, bound with a straw-rope 
for a girdle ; a pair of old shoes, with straw- 
ropes twisted round his ancles, as is done by 
shepherds in snowy weather : his face they dis- 
guise as like wretched old age as they can : in 
this plight he is brought into the wedding-hou .e, 
frequently to the astonishment of strangers who 
are not in the secret, and begins to sing— 

'• O, I am a silly auld man, 

" My name it is auld Glenae,'^ See." 

He is asked to drink, and by and by to dance, 
which, after some uncouth excuses he is prevailed 
on to do, the fiddler playing the tune, which 
here is commonly called, " Auld Glenae ;" in 
short, he is all the time so plied with liquor that 

he 



* Glenae, on the small river Ae, in Annandale ; the seat 
and designation of an ancient branch, and the present re- 
presentative, of the gallant but unfortunate Dalziels of 
Carnwath. This is the Authors note. 



554 

he is understood to get intoxicated, and with all 
the ridiculous gesticulations of an old drunken 
beggar, he dances and staggers until he falls on 
the floor ; yet still in all his riot, nay in his rol- 
ling and tumbling on the floor, with some or 
other drunken motion of his body, he beats time 
to the music, till at last he is supposed to be car- 
ried out dead drunk.. 



Musing on the roaring Ocean, 

I COMPOSED these verses out of compliment 
to a Mrs. M'Lachlan, whose husband is an 
oflacer in the East-Indies. 



Bli/the was she. 



I COMPOSED these verses while I stayed at 
Ochtertyre with Sir William Murray. — The lady, 
who was also at Ochtertyre at the same time, 
was the well-known toast, Miss Euphemia Mur- 
ray of Lentrose, who was called, and very justly, 
The Flower of Strathmore. 



Johnny 



255 

Johnny Faa, or the Gi/psie Laddie. 

The people in Ayrshire begin this song — 

" The gypsies cam to my Lord Cassili's yett^' — - 

They have a great many more stanzas in this 
song than I ever yet saw in any printed copy. — 
The castle is still remaining at Maybole, where 
his lordship shut up his w^ayward spouse and 
kept her for life. 



To daunt on me. 



The two foUowino- old stanzas to this tune 



& 



have some merit ; 



To daunton me, to daunton me, 

ken ye what it is that'll daunton me? — 
There's eighty eight and eighty nine, 
And a' that I hae b%e& borne sinsyne, 
There's cess and press* and Presbytrie, 

1 think it will do meikle for to daunton me. 



But 



* Scot and lot. 



556 

But to wanton me, to wanton me, 

ken ye what it is that wad wanton me— 
To see gude corn upon the rigs, 

And banishment amang the Whigs, 
And right restored where right sud be, 

1 think it would do meikle for to wanton me. 



The Bonie Lass made the Bed to me. 

" The Bonie Lass made the Bed to me," was 
composed on an amour of Charles II. when sculk- 
ing in the North, about Aberdeen, in the time of 
the usurpation. He formed une petite affaire 
with a daughter of the House of Port-letham, 
Avho was the " lass that made the bed to him:" — 
two verses of it are, 

I kiss'd her lips sae rosy red. 

While the tear stood blinkin in her e'e ; 
I said my lassie dinna cry 

For ye ay shall mak the bed to me. 

She took her mither's winding sheet. 

And o't she made a sark to me ; 
Blythe and merry may she be, 

The lass that made the bed to me. 

Absence. 



257 



Absence. 
A song in the manner of Shenstone. 

This song and air are both by Dr. Blacklock. 



/ had a Horse and I had nae mair. 

This story was founded on fact. A John 
Hunter, Ancestor to a very respectable farming 
family who live in a place in the parish, I think, 
of Galston, called Barr-mill, was the luckless 
hero that " had a horse and had nae mair." — For 
some little youthful follies he found it necessary 
to make a retreat to the West-Highlands, where 
" he feed himself to a Highland Laird," for that 
is the expression of all the oral editions of the 
song I ever heard. — The present Mr. Hunter, 
who told me the anecdote, is the great grand- 
child to our hero. 



Up and warn a' Willie, 



This edition of the song I got from Tom 



Mel, 



^58 

Kiel^ of facetious fame, in Edinburgh. The 
expression, " Up and warn a' Willie," alludes 
to the Crantara, or warning of a Highland Clan 
to arms. Not understanding this, the Lowland- 
ers in the west, and south, say, " Up and w^awr 
them a," 8cc. 



A Rose-hud hy my early Walk. 

This song I composed on Miss Jenny Cruik- 
shank, only child to my worthy friend Mr. 
Wm. Cruikshank, of the High-School, Edin- 
burgh. The air is by a David Sillar, quondam 
Merchant, and now Schoolmaster in Irvine. He 
is the Davie to whom I address my printed po- 
etical epistle in the measure of the Cherry and 
the Slae. 



Auld 



* Tom Neil was a carpenter in Edinburgh, and lived 
chiefly by making coffins. He was also Pre|enter, or 
Clerk, in one of the churches. He had a good strong 
voice, and was greatly distinguished by his powers of 
mimicry, and his humorous manner of singing the old Scot- 
tish ballads. E. 



559 

Auld Rob Morris. 

It is remark-worthy that the song of " Hooly 
and Fairly," in all the old editions of it, is called 
*' The Drunken Wife o' Galloway," which lo- 
calizes it to that country. 



Rattlin^ roarin Willie. 



The last stanza of this song is mine; it was 
composed out of compliment to one of the wor- 
thiest fellows in the world, William Dunbar, 
Esq. writer to the signet, Edinburgh, and Colonel 
of the Crochallan corps, a club of wits who took 
that title at the time of raising the fencible re- 
giments. 



IMiere braving angry Winter's Storms. 

This song I composed on one of the most 
accomplished of women, Miss Peggy Chalmers 
that was, now Mrs. Lewis Hay, of Forbes and 
Co.'s bank, Edinburgh. 



Tibbie, 



260 



Tibbie, I hae seen the Day, 

This song I composed about the age of se- 
venteen. 



JVancys Ghost. 
This song is by Dr. Blacklock. 



Tune your Fiddles^ ire. 

This song was composed by the Rev. John 
Skinner, Nonjurer Clergyman at Linshart, near 
Peterhead. He is likewise the author of Tul- 
lochgorum, Ewie wi' the Crooked Horn, John 
o' Badenyond, 8cc. and what is of still more 
consequence, he is one of the worthiest of man- 
kind. He is the author of an ecclesiastical 
history of Scotland. The air is by Mr. Mar- 
shall, butler to the Duke of Gordon; the first 
composer of strathspeys of the age. I have 
been told by somebody who had it of Marshall 
himself, that he took the idea of his three most 

celebrated 



561 

celebrated pieces, The Marquis of Huntley's 
Reel, His Farewel, and Miss Admiral Gordon's 
Reel, from the old air, " The German Lairdie." 



Gill Morice. 



This plaintive ballad ought to have been call- 
ed Child Maurice, and not Gill Morice. In its 
present dress, it has gained immortal honor 
from Mr. Home's taking from it the ground-work 
of his fine tragedy of Douglas. But I am of opi- 
nion that the present ballad is a modern compo- 
sition ; perhaps not much above the age of the 
middle of the last century ; at least I should be 
glad to see or hear of a copy of the present words 
prior to I65O. That it was taken from an old 
ballad, called Child Maurice, now lost, I am in- 
clined to believe; but the present one may be 
classed with Hardycanute,* Kenneth, Duncan, 
the Laird of Woodhouselie, Lord Livingston, 
Binnorie, The Death of Monteith, and many 
other modern productions, which have been 

swallowed 



* In the year 1719, the celebrated poem or ballad of 
Hardyknute, first appeared at Edinburgh, as " a frag- 
ment/' in a folio pamphlet of twelve pages. 

RiTSON. 



564 

My Harry was a Gallant gay. 
Tune, Highlander's Lament. 

The oldest title I ever heard to this air was, 
" The Highland Watch's Farewel to Ireland." 
The chorus I picked up from an old woman in 
Dunblane ; the rest of the song is mine. 



The 



* A mutual flame inspires us baith, 

The tender look, the melting kiss : 
Even years shall ne'er destroy our love 
But only gie us change o' bliss. 

' Hae 1 a wish ? its a* for thee; 

I ken thy wish is me to please ; 
Our moments pass sae smooth away, 

That numbers on us look and gaze, 
Weel pleas'd they see our happy days. 

Nor envy's sel finds aught to blame ; 
And ay when weary cares arise, 

Thy bosom still shall be my hame. 

* I'll lay me there, and take my rest, 

And if that aught disturb my dear, 
I'll bid her laugh her cares away. 

And beg her not to drap a tear : 
Hae I a joy ! its a' her ain ; 

United still her heart and mine ; 
They're like the woodbine round the tree, 

That's twin'd till death shall them disioin. 



565 



The Highland Character, 

This tune was the composition of Gen. Reid, 
and called by him '' The Highland, or 42d Regi- 
ment's March." 

The words are by Sir Harry Erskine. 



Leader Haughs and Yarrow. 

There is in several collections, the old song 
of Leader Haughs and Yarrow. It seems to have 
been the work of one of our itinerant minstrels, 
as he calls himself, at the conclusion of his 
song, " Minstrel Burn.'' 



The Tailor fell thro' the Bed, Thimble an* a\ 

This air is the march of the Corporation of 
Tailors. The second and fourth stanzas are 
mine. 



Beware 



^tb^ 



Beware o' Bonie Ann. 



I COMPOSED this song out of compliment to 
Miss Ann Masterton, the daughter of my friend, 
Allan Masterton, the author of the air of Strath- 
allan's Lament, and two or three others in this 
work. 

Ye gallants bright I red you right, 

Beware o' bonie Ann ; 
Her comely face sae fu' o' grace, 

Your heart she will trepan. 
Her een sae bright, like stars by night. 

Her skin is like the swan ; 
Sae jimply lac'd her genty waist, 

That sweetly ye might span. 

Youth, grace, and love, attendant move, 

And pleasure leads the van : 
In a' their charms, and conquering arms. 

They wait on bonie Ann. 
The captive bands may chain the hands. 

But love enslaves the man ; 
Ye gallants braw, I red you a', 

Beware o^ bonie Ann. 



This 



267 



This is no mine ain House. 

The first half stanza is old, the rest is -Ram- 
say's. The old words are — 

O this is no mine ain house, 

My ain house, my ain house ; 
This is no mine ain house, 

I ken by the biggin o't. ^ 

There's bread and cheese are my door-cheeks, 
Are my door-cheeks, are my door-cheeks ; 

There's bread and cheese are my door-cheeks, 
And pan-cakes the riggin o't. 

This is no my ain wean, 

My ain wean, my ain wean ; 
This is no my ain wean, 

I ken by the greetie o't. 

I'll tak the curchie afF my head, 

Aff my head, afF my head ; 
I'll tak the curchie aflf my head, 

And row't about the feetie o't. 

The tune is an old Highland air, called Shuan 
truish williEhan. 



Laddie^ 



568 



Laddie y lie near me* 
This song is by BlacklocL 



The Gardener wi his Paidle.'^ 

This air is the Gardener's March. The title 
of the song only is old ; the rest is mine. 

When rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers ; 
Then busy, busy are his hours, 
The gard'ner wi' his paidle. 

The chrystal waters gently fa* ; 
The merry birds are lovers a' ; 
The scented breezes round him blaw, 
The gard'ner wi' his paidle. 

When 



* This is the original of the song tliat appears in Dr. 
Currie's ed. vol. iv. p. 103 ; it is there called Dainty 
Davie, 



^69 

When purple morning starts the hare 
To steal upon her early fare ; 
Then thro' the dews he maun repair. 
The gard'ner wi' his paidle. 

When day expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws of nature's rest : 
He flies to her arms he lo'es best. 
The gard'ner wi' his paidle* 



T^he Day returns^ my Bosom burns. 
Tune, Seventh of November. 

I COMPOSED this song out of compliment to 
one of the happiest and worthiest married cou- 
ples in the world, Robert Riddel, Esq. of Glen- 
riddel, and his lady. At their fire-side I have 
enjoyed more pleasant evenings than at all the 
houses of fashionable people in this country put 
together; and to their kindness and hospitality I 
am indebted for many of the happiest hours of 
my life. 



The 



570 



The Gaberlunzie-Man* 

The Gaberlunzie-Man is supposed to com- 
memorate an intrigue of James the Vth. Mr. 
Callander of Craigforth, published some years 
ago, an edition of " Christ's Kirk on the Green," 
and the '' Gaberlunzie-Man," ^Yith notes critical 
and historical. James the Vth is said to have 
been fond of Gosford, in Aberlady Parish, and 
that it was suspected by his cotemporaries, that 
in his frequent excursions to that part of the 
country he had other purposes in view besides 
golfing and archery. Three favourite ladies, San- 
dilands, Weir, and Oliphant ; (one of them re- 
sided at Gosford, and the others in the neigh- 
bourhood,) were occasionally visited by their 
royal and gallant admirer, which gave rise to the 
following satirical advice to his Majesty, from 
Sir David Lindsay, of the Mount; Lord Lyon.-f* 

Sow not your seed on Sandylands, 
Spend not your strength in Weir, 
And ride not on an Elephant, 
For spoiling o' your gear. 



My 



'^ A wallet-maii or tinker, who appears to have been 
formerly a jack of all trades. 

-f Sir David was Lion King-at-Arms, under James V, 



^n 



My Bonnie Mary. 

This air is Oswald's; the first half-stanza of 
the song is old, the rest mine. 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine. 

An' fill it in a silver tassie ; 
That I may drink before I go, 

A service to my bonnie lassie ; 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith ; 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry; 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I maun lea'e my bonnie Mary. 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked ready ; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar, 

The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; 
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar, 

It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.* 



Thi 



* This song, which Burns here acknowledges to be his 
own, was first introduced by him in a letter to Mrs. Dun- 
lop, as two old stanzas. 

See Letters, vol. ii, p. 188. 



572 



The Black Eagle, 



This song is by Dr. Fordyce, whose merits 
as a prose writer are well known. 



Jamie come try me. 
This air is Oswald's ; the song mine. 



The lazy Mist, 
This song is mine. 



Johnie Cope. 



This satirical song was composed to comme- 
morate General Cope's defeat at Preston Pans, 
in 1745? when he marched against the Clans. 

The air was the tune of an old song, of which 
I have heard some verses, but now only remem- 
ber the title, which was 

Will ye go to the coals in the morning. 



/ love 



573 



/ love my Jean, 



This air is by Marshal ; the song I composed 
out of compliment to Mrs. Burns. 

N. B. It was during the honey-moon. 



Cease^ cease my dear Friend to explore. 

The song is by Dr. Blacklock ; I believe, but 
am not quite certain, that the air is his too. 



Auld Robin Gray, 



This air was formerly called, *' The Bride- 
groom greets when the Sun gangs down.'* 



Donald and Flora. 



This is one of those fine Gaelic tunes, pre- 
served from time immemorial in the Hebrides ; 

they 



274 

they seem to be the ground-work of many of our 
finest Scots pastoral tunes. The words of this 
song were written to commemorate the unfor- 
tunate expedition of General Burgoyne in Ame- 
rica, in 1777. 



were I on Parnassus HilL 

This air is Oswald's: the song I made out of 
compliment to Mrs. Burns. 



The Captive Ribband, 
This air is called Robie donna Gorach. 



There's a Touth in this City. 

This air is claimed by Neil Go w, who calls 
it his lament for his brother. The first half- 
stanza of the song is old ; the rest is mine. 

There's 



575 

There's a youth in this city, it were a great pity 

That he from our lasses should wander awa; 
For he's bonie and braw, weel-favour'd with a', 

And his hair has a natural buckle and a'. 
His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue ; 

His fecket* is white as the new-driven snaw ; 
His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the 
slae, 

And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'. 
His coat is the hue, 8cc. 

For beauty and fortune the laddie's been courtin; 
Weel-featur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel mounted 
and braw ; 
But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her, 

The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'. — 
There's Meg wi' the mailin, that fain wad a haen 
him, 
And Susy whase daddy was Laird o' the ha' ; 
There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maist fetters his 
fancy, 
— But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dearest of a'. 



My 



* Fecket — an under-waistcoat with sleeves. 



S76 



My Heart's in the Highlands, 

The first half-stanza of this song is old; the 
rest is mine. 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not 

here; 
My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the deer; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
Farewel to the Highlands, farewel to the North, 
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
The hills of the Highlands forever I love, 

Farewel to the mountains high covered with snow ; 
Farewel to the straths and green vallies below : 
Farewel to the forests and wild-hanging woods ; 
Farewel to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not 

here, 
My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the ^eer : 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. 



Qa' 



277 



Ca' the Ewes to the Knowes. 

This beautiful song is in the true old Scotch 
taste, yet I do not know that either air, or 
words, were in print before. 



The Bridal o't. 



This song is the work of a Mr. Alexander 
Ross, late schoolmaster at Lochlee ; and author 
of a beautiful Scots poem, called the Fortunate 
Shepherdess. 



Todlen Harae, 

This is perhaps the first bottle song that ever 
was composed. 



The Braes o Ballochmyle. 

This air is the composition of my friend Al- 
lan Masterton, in Edinburgh. I composed the 
verses on the amiable and excellent family of 
Whitefoord's leaving Ballochmyle, when Sir 
John's misfortunes had oblig-ed him to sell the 
estate. 

Tht 



^7'S 



The rantin Dog the Daddi$ o't. 

I COMPOSED this song pretty early in life, and 
sent it to a young girl, a very particular ac- 
quaintance of mine, who was at that time under 
a cloud. 

O wha my babie-cl0uts will buy? 
Wha will tent me when I cry ? 
Wha will kiss me whare I lie ? 
The rantin dos; the daddie o't. — 

Wha will own he did the faut ? 
Wha will buy^y groanin-maut ? 
Wha will tell me how to ca't? 
The rantin doo- the daddie o't. — 

When I mount the creepie-chair, 
Wha will sit beside me there ? 
Gie me Rob, I seek nae mair, 
The rantin door the daddie o't. — 

Wha will crack to me my lane ? 
Wha will mak me fidgin fain ?* 
Wha will kiss me o'er again? 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. — 



Th 



le 



* Fidgin fain — Fidgeting with delight — Tickled with 
pleasure. 



f79 



The Shepherd's Preference, 

This song is Blacklock's. — I don't know how 
it came by the name, but the oldest appellation 
of the air, was^ " Whistle and I'll come to you 
my lad." 

It has little affinity to the tune commonly 
known by that name. 



The bonie Banks of Ayr. 

I COMPOSED this song as I convoyed my chest 
so far on the road to Greenock, where I was to 
embark in a few days for Jamaica. 

I meant it as my farewel Dirge to my native 
land.- 



John 



* " I had taken the last farewel of my few friends ; my 
chest was on the road to Greenock ; I had composed the 
last song I should ever measure in Caledonia, The gloomy 
Night is gathering fast." 

Letter to Dr, Moore, vol. i. p. 35. Dr, Currie's ed. 



2S0 



* John o' Badenyond. 

This excellent song is the composition of my 
worthy friend, old Skinner, at Linshart. 



t A Waukrife Minnie, 

I PICKED up this old song and tune from a.- 
country girl in Nithsdale.- — I never met with it 
elsewhere in Scotland. 

Whare are you gaun, my bonie lass, 
Whare are you gaun, my hinnie, 

She answer'd me right saucilie, 

An errand for my minnie. ^ 

O whare live ye, my bonie lass, 

O whare live ye, my hinnie, 
By yon burn-side, gin ye maun ken 

In a wee house wi' my minnie. 

But 



* The words of Burns's celebrated Dirge — beginning, 
" Man was made to mourn" were composed to this 
tune. E. 

t A watchful mother. 



581 

But I foor up the glen at e'en, 

To see my bonie lassie ; 
And lang before the gray morn cam, 

She was na hauf sae saucle. 

O weary fa' the Waukrife cock, 
And the foumart lay his crawin I 

He wauken'd the auld wife frae her sleep, 
A wee blink or the dawin. 

An angry wife I wat she raise. 

And o'er the bed she brought her; 

And wi' a mickle hazle rung 

She made her a weel pay'd dochten 

O fare thee weel, my bonie lass ! 

O fare thee weel, my hinnie I 
Thou art a gay and a bonie lass. 

But thou has a waukrife minnie."^ 



Tullochgorum, 



This, first of songs, is the master-piece of my 
old friend Skinner. He was passing the day, 



at 



* The editor thinks it respectful to the poet to preserve 
the verses he thus recovered. 



582 

at the town of Cullen I think it was, in a friend's 
house whose name was Montgomery. — Mrs. 
Montgomery observing, en passant^ that the 
beautiful reel of TuUochgorum wanted words, 
she begged them of Mr. Skinner, who gratified 
her wishes, and the wishes of every lover of 
Scottish song, in this most excellent ballad. 

These particulars I had from the author's 
ion, Bishop Skinner, at Aberdeen. 



For a' that and a' that. 
This song is mine,* all except the chorus. 



Auld lang syne. 



Ramsay here, as usual with him, has taken 
the idea of the song, and the first line, from the 
old fragment, which may be seen in the Mi^m^ 
vol. V. 



Willie 



* This is part of the Bard's Song in the Jolly 
Beggars. 



Willie hrew'd a Peck o' Maui, 

This air is Masterton's ; the song mine. — The 
occasion of it was this. — Mr. Wm. Nicol, of the 
High School, Edinburgh, during the autumn 
vacation being at Moffat, honest Allan, who 
was at that time on a visit to Dalswinton, and I 
went to pay Nicol a visit.— We had such a joy- 
ous meeting that Mr- Masterton and I agreed, 
each in yur own way, that we should celebrate 
the business. 



Killiecrankie. 

The battle of Killiecrankie was the last stand 
made by the Clans for James, after his abdica- 
tion. Here the gallant Lord Dundee fell in the 
moment of victory, and with him fell the hopes 
of the party. — General M'Kay, when he found 
the JHlighlanders did not pursue his flying 
army, said, " Dundee must be killed, or he 
never would have overlooked this advantage." — 
A great stone marks the spot where Dundee 
fell. 

u 2 The 



584 

The Ewie wi the crooked Horn* 
Another excellent song of old Skinner's. 



/ Craigie-burn Wood. 

It is remarkable of this air, that it is the con- 
fine of that country where the greatest part of 
our Lowland music, (so far as from the title, 
words, 8cc. we can localize it,) has been com- 
posed. From Craigie-burn, near Moffat, until 
one reaches the West Highlands, we have scarcely 
one slow air of any antiquity. 

The song was composed on a passion which 
a Mr. Gillespie, a particular friend of mine, had 
for a Miss Lorimer, afterwards a Mrs. Whelp- 
dale. — The young lady was born at Craigie- 
burn-wood.-— The chorus is part of an old fool- 
ish ballad. — 

Beyond thee^ dearie^ beyond thee, dearie, 

And to be lying beyond thee, 
sweetly^ soundly, weel may he sleep, 

Thafs laid in the bed beyond thee. 

Sweet 



285 

Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn-wood, 

And blythely awakens the morrow ; 
But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-burn- 
wood, 
Can yield me to nothing but sorrow. 
Beyond thee, &c. 

I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 

I hear the wild birds singing ; 
But pleasure they hae nane for me, 

While care my heart is wringing. 
Beyond thee, &c, 

I canna tell, I maun na tell, 

I dare na for your anger ; 
But secret love will break my heart. 

If I conceal it lano-er. 
Beyond thee, <&c. 

I see thee gracefu', straight and tall, 

I see thee sweet and bonie, 
But oh, what will my torments be, 

If thou refuse thy Johnie ! 
Beyond thee, &c_. 

To see thee in anither's arms, 
Jn love to lie and languish, 
'Twad be my dead, that will be seen, 
My heart wad burst w^' anguish. 
Beyond thee^ &c^ 

But 



2Sd 

But Jeanle, say thou wilt be mine. 
Say, thou lo'es nane before me; 

And a' my days o' life to come 
I'll g;ratefully adore thee. 
Beyond thee, ire. 



Frae the Friends and Land I love, 

I added the four last lines by way of giving a 
turn to the theme of the poem, such as it is. 

Frae the friends and land I love. 

Driv'n by fortune's felly spite; 
Frae my best belov'd I rove, 

Never mair to taste deh'ght. 
Never mair maun hope to find 

Ease frae toil, relief frae care, 
When remembrance racks the mind, 

Pleasures but unveil despair. 

Brightest climes shall mirlc appear, 

Desart ilka blooming shore-; 
Till the fates, nae mair severe, 

Friendship, love and peace restore. 
Till revenge wi laurel'd head 

Bring our banish'd hame again ; 
And ilk loyal, bonie lad, 

Cross the seas and win his ain. 



Hughie 



^87 



Hughie Graham. 

There are several editions of this ballad. — 
This, here inserted, is from oral tradition in 
Ayrshire, where, when I was a boy, it was a 
popular song. — It, originally, had a simple old 
tune, which I have forgotten. 

Our lords are to the mountains gane, 

A hunting o' the fallow deer. 
And they have gripet Hughie Graham 

For stealing o' the bishop's mare. 

And they have tied him hand and foot, 
And led him up, thro' Stirling town ; 

The lads and lasses met him there. 

Cried, Hughie Graham thou'rt a loun. 

O lowse my right hand free, he says. 

And put my braid sword in the same ; 
He's no in Stirling town this day, 
.Dare tell the tale to Hughie Graham. 

Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord, 

As he sat by the bishop's knee, 
Five hundred white stots I'll gie you 



If ye'll let Hughie Graham free. 



O baud 



588 

O baud your tongue, the bishop says, 
And wi' your pleading let me be ; 

For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat, 
Hughie Graham this day shall die. 

Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord, 
As she sat by the bishop's knee ; 

Five hundred white pence I'll gie you. 
If ye'll gie Hughie Graham to me. 

O baud your tongue now lady fair, 
And wi' your pleading let it be ; 

Altho' ten Grahams were in his coat, 
Its for my honor he maun die. 

They've ta'en him to the gallows knowe^ 
He looked to the gallows tree, 

Yet never colour left his cheek, 
Nor ever did he blink his e'e. 

At length he looked round about. 
To see whatever he could spy : 

And there he saw his auld father, 
And he was weeping bitterly. 

O baud your tongue, my father dear. 
And wi' your weeping let it be ; 

Thy weeping's sairer on my heart, 
Than a' that they can do to me. 



And 



' S89 

And ye may gie my brother John, 

My sword that's bent in the middle clear. 

And let him eome at twelve o'clock, 
And see me pay the bishop's mare. 

And ye may gie my brother James 

My sword that's bent in the middle brown. 

And bid him come at four o'clock, 
And see his brother Hugh cut down. 

Remember me to Maggy my wife. 

The neist time ye gang o'er the moor. 

Tell her she staw the bishop's mare, 
Tell her she was the bishop's whore. 

And ye may tell my kith and kin, 
I never did disgrace their blood ; 

And when they meet the bishop's cloak 
To mak it shorter by the hood.* 



A Southland 



* Burns did not chuse to be quite correct in stating that 
this copy of the ballad of Hughie Graham is printed from 
oral tradition in Ayrshire. The fact is, that four of the 
stanzas are either altered or super-added by himself. 

Of this number the third and eighth are original ; the 

ninth 



i90 



A Southland Jenny . 

This is a popular Ayrshire song, though the 
notes were never taken down before. — It, as well 
as many of the ballad tunes in this collection, 
was written from Mrs. Burns's voice. 



My 



ninth and tenth have received his corrections. Perhaps 
pathos was never more touching than in the picture of the 
hero singling out his poor aged father from the crowd of 
spectators; and the simple grandeur of preparation for 
this afflicting circumstance in the verse that immediately 
precedes it is matchless* 

That the reader may properly appreciate the value of 
Burns's touches, I here subjoin two verses from the most 
correct copy of the ballad, as it is printed in the border 
Minstrelsy f vol. ii. p. 324. 

" He looked over his left shoulder 

And for to see what he might see ; 
There was he aware of his auld father, 

Came tearing his hair most piteouslie. 

" O hald 



591 



My Tocher s the JeweV' 

This tune is claimed by Nathaniel Gow.~It 
is notoriously taken from " The Muckin o' Geor- 
die's Byre." — It is also to be found, long prior to 
Nathaniel Cow's sera, in Aird's Selection of Airs 
and Marches, the first edition, under the name 
of, " The Highway to Edinburgh." 



Then guid Wife count the Lawin. 

The chorus of this is part of an old song, 
one stanza of which I recollect. 

Every day my wife tells me 
That ale and brandy will ruin me ; 
But if gude liquor be my dead. 
This shall be written on my head.- — 
gude wife count, &c. 



There'll 



" O hald your tongue, my father, he says, 
And see that ye dinna weep for me ! 

For they may ravish me o' my life. 

But they canna banish me from heaven hie !" 

* Tocher — Marriage portion. 



292 



There'll never he Peace till Jamie comes Hame, 

This tune is sometimes called — " There's fefr 
•' glide Fellows when Willie's awa." — But I never 
have been able to meet with any thing else of the 
song than the title. 



I do confess thou art sae fair. 

This song is altered from a poem by Sir 
Robert Ayton, private secretary to Mary and 
Anne, queens of Scotland. — The poem is to be 
found in James Watson's Collection of Scots 
Poems, the earliest collection printed in Scot- 
land. — I think that I have improved the simpli- 
city of the sentiments, by giving them a Scots 
dress. 

I do confess thou ar4"so fair, 

I wad been o'er the lugs in luve ; 
Had I na found the slightest prayer 

That lips could speak, thy heart could muve. 

I do confess thee sweet, but find 
Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets. 

Thy 



^93 

Thy favors are the silly wind 
That kisses ilka thing it meets. 

See yonder rose-bud, rich in dew, 
Amang its native briers sae coy, 

How sune it tines its scent and hue 
When pu'd and worn a common toy ! 

Sic fate e'er lang shall thee betide, 
Tho' thou may gayly bloom a while; 

Yet sune thou shalt be thrown aside, 
Like ony common weed and vile.'" 



The 



* The following are the old words of this song : 

I do confess thou 'rt smooth and fair, 

And I might have gone near to love thee ; 

Had I not found the slightest prayer 
That lips could speak, had power to move thee; 

But I can let thee now alone 

As worthy to be lov'd by none. 

1 do confess thou'rt sweet, yet find 

Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, 
Thy favours are but like the* wind 

That kisseth every thing it meets. 
And since thou can'st with more than one, 
Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none. 

The 



294 



The Soger Laddie. 

The first verse of this is old: the rest is by 
Ramsay. — The tune seems to be the same with a 
slow air, called " Jacky Hume's Lament'* — or, 
" The HoUin Buss" — or, " Ken ye what Meg o' 
the Mill has gotten?" 



Where 



The morning rose, that untouched stands, 
Arm'd with her briars, how sweetly smells ! 

But pluckM arid strain'd through ruder hands, 
Her sweet no longer with her dwells ; 

But scent and beauty both are gone. 

And leaves fall from her, one by one. 

Such fate, ere long, will thee betide. 
When thou hast handled been awhile I 

Like sere-flowers to be thrown aside, 
And 1 shall sigh, while some will smile, 

To see thy love to every one 

Hath brought thee to be lov*d by none ! 

This song may be seen in Playford's Select Jt/res, 1659, 
folio, under the title of a " Song to a forsaken Mistresse." 

It is also printed in Ellis's Specimens of the early English 
Poets, vol. iii. p. S^5. 



^95 

Where wad bonie Annie lie. 
The old name of this tune is. — 

" Whare'll our Gudeman lie." 
A silly old stanza of it runs thus — 

O whare'll our gudeman lie, 
Gudeman lie, gudeman lie, 

O whare'll our gudeman lie, 
Till he shute o'er the simmer ? 

Up amang the hen-bawks, 

The hen-bawks, the hen-bawks. 

Up amang the hen-bawks, 
Amang the rotten timmer. 



Galloway Tarn, 



I HAVE seen an interlude (acted at a wedding) 
to this tune, called '' The Wooing of the Maiden." 
— These entertainments are now much worn out 
in this part of Scotland. — Two are still retained 
in Nithsdale, viz. Jilly Pure Auld Glenae, and 
this one. The Wooing of the Maiden. 



As 



296 

As I cam down hy yon Castle Wall. 
This is a very popular Ayrshire song. 



Lord Ronald my Son, 

This air, a very favourite one in Ayrshire? 
is evidently the original of Lochaber. — In this 
manner, most of our finest more modern airs 
have had their origin. Some early minstrel, or 
musical shepherd, composed the simple artless 
original air ; which being picked up by the more 
learned musician, took the improved form it 
bears. 



O'er the Moor amang the Heather,'^ 

This song is the composition of a Jean Glo- 
ver, a girl ^10 was not only a whore, but also 
a thief; and in one or other character has visited 
most of the Correction Houses in the West. 
— She was born I believe in Kilmarnock, — I 

took 



* Probably some of my readers will be curious to see 
this production ; I here subjoin it : — 

Comin thro' the craigs o' Kyle, 
Amang the bonnie blooming heather, 



297 

took the song down from her singing as she was 
strolling through the country, with a slight-of- 
hand blackguard. 



To 



\ 



There I met a bonnie lassie, 
Keeping a' her yowes thegither. 
O'er the moor amang the heather. 
O'er the moor amang the heather, 
There 1 met a bonnie lassie. 
Keeping a' her yozves thegither. 

Says I my dearie where is thy hame, 
In moor or dale pray tell me whether ? 
She says, I tent the fleecy flocks 
That feed amang the blooming heather, 
O'er the moor, S^c, 

We laid us down upon a bank, 
Sae warm and sunny was the weather. 
She left her flocks at large to rove 
Amang the bonnie blooming heather. 
O'er the moor, S^c. 

While thus we lay she sang a sang, 
Till echo rang a mile and farther, 
And ay the burden o' the sang 
Was o'er the moor amang the heather. 
O'er the moor, ^c. 



She 



^98 



To the Rose Bud, 



This song is the composition of a John- 
son, a joiner in the neighbourhood of Belfast. — 
The tune is by Oswald, altered, evidently, from 
Jockie's Gray Breeks. 



Ton wild mossy Mountains, 

This tune is by Oswald. The song alludes 
to a part of my private history, which it is of no 
consequence to the world to know. 

Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, 
That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, 

Where 



She charm'd my heart, and aye sinsyne, 
I could iia think on any ither : 
By sea and sky she shall be mine ! 
The bonnie lass amang the heather. 
O'er tilt moor J ^c. 



599 

Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the 

heather to feed, 
And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on 

his reed : 

Where the grouse^ &c. 

Not Cowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny 

shores, 
To me hae the charms o'yon wild, mossy moors ; 
For there, by a lanely, and sequester'd stream, 
Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. 

Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my 

path, 
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow 

strath ; 
For there, wi my lassie, the day lang I rove. 
While o'er us unheeded, flie the swift hours 

o' love. 

She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair ; 
O' nice education but sma' is her share ; 
Her parentage humble as humble can be ; 
But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me.* 

x5 To 



* ^' I love my love because I know my love loves me." 

Maid in Bedlam c 



300 

To beauty what man but maun yield him a 

prize, 
In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs ; 
And when wit and refinement ha'e polished her 

darts, 
They dazzle our een, as they flie to our hearts. 

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond spark- 
ling e'e, 

Has lustre outshining the diamond to me ; 

And the heart-beating love, as I'm clasp'd in 
her arms, 

O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms I 



It is na, Jean, tliT/ bonie Face, 

These were originally English verses: — I 
gave them their Scots dress. 



Eppie M'JTab. 



The old song with this title, has more wit 
than decency. 

Wha 



101 



Wha is that at my Bower Door ? 

This tune is also known by the name of, 
" Lass an I come near thee." The words are 
mine. 

Wha is that at my bower door ? 

O wha is it but Findlay ; 
Then gae your gate ye'se nae be here I 

Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay. 
What mak ye sae like a thief? 

O come and see, quo' Findlay ; 
Before the morn ye' 11 work mischief; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Gif I rise and let you in ? 

Let me in, quo' Findlay; 
Ye' II keep me waukin wi' your din ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
In my bower if ye should stay ? 

Let me stay, quo' Findlay ; 
I fear ye'U bide till break o' day ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Here this night if ye remain, 

I'll remain, quo' Findlay ; 
I dread ye'U learn the gate again ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay ; 

What 



302 

What may pass within this bower, 
Let it pass, quo' Findlay ; 

Ye maun conceal 'till your last hour ; 
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay ! 



Thou art gane awa^ 



This tune is the same with, " Haud aw^ frae 
me, Donald." 



l^he Tears I shed must everfalL 

This song of genius, was composed by a 
Miss Cranston.* — It wanted four lines to make 
all ihe stanzas suit the music, which I added, 
and are the four first of the last stanza. 

No cold approach, no alter'd mien. 
Just what would make suspicion start ; 
No pause the dire extremes between, 
He made me blest — and broke my heart ! 



Th 



* This lady is now marned to professor Diigald 
Stewart. 



303 



The bonie wee Thing, 

Composed on my little idol, " The charm 
iug, lovely Davies." 



The tither Morn. 



This tune is originally from the Highlands.— 
I have heard a Gaelic song to it, which I was 
told was very clever, but not by any means 21 
lady's song. 



A Mother's Lament for the Death of her Son, 

This most beautiful tune is, I think, the hap- 
piest composition of that bard-born genius, John 
Riddel, of the family of Glencarnock, at Ayr. — 
The words were composed to commemorate the 
much lamented, and premature death of Jameg 
Ferguson, Esq. jun. of Craigdarroch. 



Daintic 



304 



Daintie Davie, 

This song, tradition says, and the composi- 
tion itself confirms it, was composed on the Rev. 
David Williamson's begetting the daughter of 
Lady Cherrytrees with child, while a party 
of dragoons were searching her house to ap- 
prehend him for being an adherent to the so- 
lemn league and covenant. — The pious woman 
had put a lady's night-cap on him, and had laid 
him a-bed with her own daughter, and passed 
him to the soldiery as a lady, her daughter s bed- 
fellow. — -A mutilated stanza or two are to be 
found in Herd's collection, but the original 
song consists of five or six stanzas, and were their 
delicacy equal to their wit and humor ^ they would 
merit a place in any collection. — The first stan- 
za is, — 

Being pursued by the dragoons, 
Within my bed he was laid down ; 
And weel I wat he was worth his room. 
For he was my daintie Davie. 

Ramsay's song, Luckie Nansie, though he calls it 
an old song with additions, seems to be all his 
own, except the chorus : 

I was 



305 

I was a telling you, 
Liickie Nansie, luckie Nansie, 
Auld springs wad ding the new, 
But ye wad never trow me. 

Which I should conjecture to be part of a song, 
prior to the affair of Williamson. 



Boh Dumhlane. 



Ramsay, as usual, has modernized this song. 
The original, which I learned on the spot, from 
my old hostess in the principal inn there is ; 

Lassie, lend me your braw hemp heckle, 
And I'll lend you my thripplin-kame ; 

My heckle is broken, it canna be gotten, 
And we'll gae dance the bob o' Dumblane. 

Twa gaed to the wood, to the wood, to the wood, 
Twa gaed to the wood — three came hame ; 

An' it be na weel bobbit, weel bobbit,weel bobbit, 
An' it be na weel bobbit, we'll bob it again. 

I insert this song to introduce the following 
anecdote which I have heard well authenticated. 
In the evening of the day of the battle of Dum- 
blane (Sheriff Muir) when the action was over, 

a Scots 



306 

a Scots officer in Argyle's army, observed to 
His Grace, that he was afraid the rebels would 
give out to the world that ihei/ had gotten the 
victory. — " Weel, weel," returned his Grace, 
alluding to the foregoing ballad, " if they think 
it be nae weel bobbit, we'll bob it again." 



'^ The battle of Dumblane, or Sherifif-Muir, was fought 
the 13th of November, 1715, between the Earl of Mar, 
for the Chevalier, and the Duke of Argyle, for the govern- 
ment. Both sides claimed the victory, the left wing of 
either army being routed. Ritson observes, it is very re- 
markable that the capture of Preston happened on the 
same day. 



Note referred to in page 229. 

A short account of James Tytler. 

James Tytler was the son of a country clergyman 
in the presbytery of Brechin, and brother to Dr. Tytler, 
the translator of Callimachus. He was instructed by his 
father in classical learning and school divinity, and attained 
an accurate knowledge of the Latin and Greek languages, 
and an extensive acquaintance with biblical literature and 
scholastic theology. Having discovered an early predilec- 
tion for the medical profession, he was put apprentice to a 
surgeon in Forfar, and afterwards sent to attend the me- 
dical 



307 

dical classes at Edinburgh. While a medical student, 
he cultivated experimental chemistry and controversial 
theology with equal assiduity. Unfortunately his religious 
opinions, not deemed orthodox, or calvinistical, connected 
him with a society of Glassites, and involved him in a mar- 
riage with a member of the society, which terminated in a 
separation. He now settled at Leith, as an apothecary, 
depending on the patronage of his religious connections ; 
but his separation from the society, which happened soon 
after, with an unsteadiness that was natural to him, dis- 
appointed his expectations. When he ceased to be a Glas- 
site, he ceased not to be a firm believer in the Christian 
revelation, and a zealous advocate of genuine Christianity ; 
but he never afterwards held communion with any denomi- 
nation of Christians. The neglect of his business was the 
unavoidable consequence of his attention to religious dis^ 
sensions ; and having contracted debts to a considerable 
amount, he was obliged to remove to Berwick, and after- 
wards to Newcastle. In both places he was employed in 
preparing chemical medicines for the druggists; but the 
liberality of his employers being insufficient to preserve an 
encreasing family from the evils of penury, he returned 
to Edinburgh, in the year 1772, in extreme poverty, 
and took refuge from the mole station of his creditors 
within the precincts of the sanctuary of Holyrood House, 
where debtors are privileged from arrests. At this period his 
wife deserted him and their five children, the youngest only 
six months old, and returned to her relations. He solaced 
himself for the privation of domestic happiness by com- 
posing a humorous ballad entitled " The Pleasures of 
The Abbey f^ which was his first attempt in poetry. In 
9 description of its inhabitants, the author himself is 
introduced in the l6th and 17th stanzas. In the avocation 

liberality 



308 

of an author by profession, which he was now compelled 
to assume, he displayed a versatility of talent and a facility 
in writing unexampled in the transactions of the press. 
He commenced his literary career by a publication entitled 
" Essays on the most important Subjects of natural and 
revealed Religion/' which issued from the asylum for 
debtors, under the peculiar circumstances of being com- 
posed by himself, at the printing case, from his own con- 
ceptions, without a manuscript before him, and wrought 
off at a press of his own construction, by his own hands. 
He left this singular work, which was to be completed in 
two volumes 8vo. unfinished, and turned aside, to attack 
the opinions of a new religious sect called Bereans, in a 
" Letter to Mr. John Barclay on the Doctrine of 
Assurance" in which he again performed the functions 
of author, compositor, and pressman. He next set forth 
with such assistance as he could find, a monthly publica- 
tion, entitled " The Gentleman and Ladys Magazine,** 
which was soon abandoned for " The Weekly Review" 
a literary miscellany, which, in its turn, was discontinued 
in a very short time. These publications, unavoidably 
disfigured with many typographical deformities, made him 
known to the booksellers ; and from them he after- 
wards found constant employment in compilations, abridg- 
ments, translations, and miscellaneous essays. He now 
ventured to leave the miserable apartments which he had 
long occupied in the sanctuary for debtors, for more 
comfortable lodgings, first at Restalrig, and afterwards 
in the city, and if his prudence and steadiness had been 
equal to his talents and industry, he might have earned 
by his labours a complete maintenance, which never 
fell to his lot. As he wrote for subsistence, not from 
the vanity of authorship, he was engaged in many works 

which 



S09 

which were anonymous, and in others which appeared with 
the names of his employers. He is editor or author of 
the following works : '^ The Weekly Mirror" a periodical 
pubUcation which began in 1780. " A System of Geo- 
graphy^'^ in 8vo. " A History of Edinburgh/'' 12mo. 
" A Geographical, Historical, and Commercial Gram- 
mar" 2 vols. 8vo. ^^ A Review of DriUhkens Theory of 
laflammation" 12mo. with a piaietical dedication. *' i?e- 
marks on Mr, Finkerton's Introduction to the History 
of Scotland," 8vo. " A poetical Translation of VirgiVs 
Eclogues," 4to. " A general Index to the Scots Maga- 
zine." " A System of Chemistry," written at the expence 
of a gentleman who was to put his name to it, unpublished. 
He gave his assistance in preparing the System of Ana- 
tomy published by A. Bell, and was an occasional contri- 
butor to the " Medical Commentaries," and other pe- 
riodical publications of the time. He was the principal 
editor of the 2d edition of the ^^Encyclopedia Britannica" 
and finished, with incredible labour, a large proportion 
of the more considerable scientific treatises and histories, 
and almost all the minor articles. He had an apartment 
assigned him in the printing-house, where he performed 
the offices of compiler, and corrector of the press, at 
a salary of sixteen shillings a week 1 When the third edition 
was undertaken, he was engaged as a stated contributor, 
upon more liberal terms, and wrote a larger share in the 
early volumes than is ascribed to him in the general pre- 
face. It was his misfortune to be continually drawn aside 
from the business of his employers by the delight he took 
in prosecuting experiments in chemistry, electricity, and 
mechanics, which consumed a large portion of his time 
and money. He conducted for some time, with success, a 
manufacturing process of which he was the inventor ; but 

after 



31^ 

after he had disclosed his secret to the gentleman at whos^ 
expence it was carried on, he was dismissed, without 
obtaining either a share in the business, or a suitable com- 
pensation for his services. He was the first in Scotland 
who adventured in a fire balloon, constructed upon the 
plan of Montgolfeir. He ascended from Comely Gardertf 
Edinburgh, amidst the acclamations of an immense mul- 
titude, and descended at a distance of a quarter of a mile, 
owing to some unforeseen defect in the machinery. The 
failure of this adventure deprived him of the public 
favour and applause, and encreased his pecuniary diffi- 
culties. He again had recourse to his pen for subsistence, 
and amidst the drudgery of writing, and the cares which 
pressed upon him daily, he exhilarated his spirits, at inter- 
vals, with a tune on the Irish Bagpipe, which he played 
with much sweetness, interposing occasionally a song 
of his o^vn composition, sung with great animation. A 
solace of this kind was well suited to the simplicity of 
his manners, the modesty of his disposition, and the in- 
tegrity of his character, such as they were before he 
suffered his social propensities to violate the rules of so- 
briety. Forgetting his old friends, he associated with 
discontented persons, and entered into a deliberate 
exposition of the abuses of government in " A pam- 
phlet on the excise" and more systematically in a pe- 
riodical publication, entitled, " The Historical Register" 
which gratified malignity by personal invective and in- 
temperance of language. He was concerned in the wild 
irrational plans of the British convention, and pTiblished 
*' A hand bill addressed to the people" written in so inflam- 
matory a style, as rendered him obnoxious to government. 
A warrant was issued to apprehend him, and he left 
his native country and crossed the Atlantic for America, 

where 



311 

where he fixed his residence in the town of Salem, in the 
state of Massachusetts, where he estabHshed a newspaper 
in connection with a printer, which he continued till his 
death, which happened in the year 1805, in the 58th 
year of his age. 

The editor cannot dismiss this note without ac- 
knowledging himself greatly obliged by the communica- 
tions of Dr. Robert Anderson, of Edinburgh, 



COMMON PLAGE BOOK, 

JOURNALS, 

FRAGMENTS OF LETTERS, 

MISCELLANEOUS 

OBSERVATIONS, fee 



ROBERT BURNS's 
COMMON PLACE, or SCRAP BOOK, 

BEGUN IN APRIL, 1783 * 



" Observations, Hints, Songs, Scraps of 
Poetry, 8cc. by Robert Burn ess ; a man who 
had little art in making money, and still less 
in keeping it ; but Vv^as, however, a man of some 

' sense, 

* It has- been the chief object in making this collection, 
not to omit any thing which might iUustrate the character 
and feelings of the bard at different periods of his life. — 
Hence these " Ohservations'^ are given entire from his ma- 
nuscript. — A small portion appears in Dr. Curriers edition, 
but the reader will pardon the repetition of it here when he 
considers how much so valuable a paper would lose by 
being given in fragments, and when he recollects that this 
volume may fall into the hands of those who have not the 
opportunity of referring to the large edition of the 
works. 

This remark will apply equally to the Journals and 
other pieces of which parts have before been published. 

E. 

\ 2 



316 

sense, a great deal of honesty, and unbounded 
good-will to every creature, rational and irra- 
tional. — As he was but little indebted to scho- 
lastic education, and bred at a plough-tail, his 
performances must be strongly tinctured with his 
unpolished, rustic way of life; but as I believe 
they are really his own^ it may be some enter- 
tainment to a curious observer of human nature 
to see how a plough-man thinks, and feels, 
under the pressure of love, ambition, anxiety, 
grief, with the like cares and passions, which, 
however diversified by the modes, and manners 
of life, operate pretty much alike, I believe, on 
all the species. 

" There are numbers in the world who do not 
want sense to make a figure, so much as an opi- 
nion of their own abilities to put them upon re- 
cording their observations, and allowing them 
the same importance which they do to those 
which appear in print." 

Shenstpne. 

'^ Pleasing, when youth is long expired, to trace 
The forms our pencil, or our pen designed ! 

Such was our youthful air, and shape, and face, 
Such the soft image of our youthful mind." 

Ibid. 



Notwithstanding 



S17 



Aprilf 178S. 



Notwithstanding all that has been said against 
love respecting the folly and weakness it leads a 
young inexperienced mind into ; still I think it 
in a great measure deserves the highest enco- 
miums that have been passed upon it. If any 
thing on earth deserves the name of rapture or 
transport it is the feelings of green eighteen in 
the company of the mistress of his heart, w^hen 
she repays him with an equal return of affec- 
tion. 



August. 

There is certainly some connection between 
love, and music, and poetry ; and therefore, I 
have always thought it a fine touch of nature, 
that passage in a modern love composition, 

'^ As tow'rds her cott he jogg'd along, 
Her name was frequent in his song/' 

For my own part I never had the least thought 
or inclination of turning poet till I got once 
heartily in love, and then rhyme and song were, 

« in 



318 

in a manner the spontaneous language of my 
heart. The following composition was the first 
of my performances, and done at an early pe- 
riod of life, when my heart glowed with honest 
warm simplicity ; unacquainted, and uncorrupt- 
ed with the ways of a wicked world. The per- 
formance is, indeed, very puerile and silly ; but 
I am always pleased with it, as it. recals to my 
mind those happy days when my heart was yet 
honest, and my tongue was sincere. The sub- 
ject of it was a young girl who really deserved 
all the praises I have bestowed on her. Tnot 
only had this opinion of her then — but I actu- 
ally think so still, now that the spell is long 
since broken, and the enchantment at an end. 

Tune ' I AM A MAN UNMARRIED.' 

O once I lov'd a bonnie lass, 

Ay, and I love her still, 
And whilst that honor warms my breast 

I'll love my handsome Nell. 

Fal lal de ral, &c* 

As bonnie lasses I hae seen, 

And mony full as braw. 
But for a modest gracefu' mien 

The like I never saw. 

♦ A bonnie 



319 

A bonnie lass I will confess. 

Is pleasant to the e'e, 
But without some better qualities 

She's no a lass for me. 

But Nelly's looks are blythe and sweet, 

And what is best of a', 
Her reputation is complete, 

And fair without a flaw. 

She dresses ay sae clean and neat, 

Both decent and genteel : 
And then there's something in her gait 

Gars ony dress look weel. 

A gaudy dress and gentle air 

May slightly touch the heart. 
But it's innocence and modesty 

That polishes the dart. 

'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 

'Tis this enchants my soul ; 
For absolutely in my breast 

She reigns without control. 

Fat lal de ral, &c. 

Criticism on the foregoing song. 

Lest my works should be thought below criti- 
cism; 



eism ; or meet with a critic who, perhaps, will 
not look on them with so candid and favorable an 
eye ; I am determined to criticise them my- 
self. 

The first distich of the first stanza is quite too 
much in the flimsy strain of our ordinary street 
ballads ; and on the other hand, the second 
distich is too much in the other extreme. The 
expression is a little awkward, and the senti- 
ment too serious. Stanza the second I am well 
pleased with ; and I think it conveys a fine idea 
of that amiable part of the sex — the agreeables ; 
or what in our Scotch dialect we call a sweet 
sonsy lass. The third stanza has a little of the 
flimsy turn in it ; and the third line has rather 
too serious a cast. The fourth stanza is a very 
indifferent one ; the first line is, indeed, all in 
the strain of the second stanza, but the rest is 
mostly expletive. The thoughts in the fifth 
stanza come finely up to my favorite idea — a 
sryeet sonsy lass : the last line, however, halts a 
little. The same sentiments are kept up with 
equal spirit and tenderness in the sixth stanza ; 
but the second and fourth lines ending with 
short syllables hurt the whole. The seventh 
stanza has several minute faults ; but I remember 
I composed it in a wild enthusiasm of passion, 
and to this hour I never recollect it, but my 

heart 



351 

heart melts, my blood sallies at the remem- 
brance. 



September, 

I enthely agree with that judicious philoso- 
pher, Mr. Smith, in his excellent Theory of Mo- 
ral Sentiments^ that remorse is the most painful 
sentiment that can embitter the human bosom. 
Any ordinary pitch of fortitude may bear up 
tolerably well under those calamities, in the 
procurement of which we ourselves have had 
no hand ; but when our own follies, or crimes, 
have made us miserable and wretched, to bear 
up with manly firmness, and at the same time 
have a proper penitential sense of our miscon- 
duct, is a glorious effort of self-command. 

Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace, 
That press the soul, or wring the mind with 

anguish. 
Beyond comparison the worst are those 
That to our folly or our guilt we owe. 
In every other circumstance, the mind 
Has this to say — " It was no deed of mine;" 
But when to all the evil of misfortune 
This sting is added — " Blame thy foolish self!" 

Or 



222 

Or worser far, the pangs of keen remorse ; 
The torturing, gnawingconsciousness of guilt — 
Of guilt, perhaps, where we've involved others ; 
The young, the innocent, who fondly lov'd us, 
Nay, more, that very love their cause of ruin ! 
O burning hell ! in all thy store of torments, 
There's not a keener lash I 
Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart 
Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime, 
Can reason down its agonizing throbs; 
And, after proper purpose of amendment, 
Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace ? 
O, happy ! happy I enviable man 1 
O glorious magnanimity of soul ! 



'■ March, 1784. 

I have often observed, in the course of my 
experience of human life, that every man, even 
the worst, has something good about him^ 
though very often nothing else than a happy 
temperament of constitution inclining him to 
this or that virtue. For this reason, no man 
can say in what degree any other person, be- 
sides himself, can be, with strict justice, called 
wicked. Let any of the strictest character for 
regularity of conduct among us, examine im- 
partially 



32 



3 



partially how many vices he has never been 
guilty of, not from any care or vigilance, but 
for want of opportunity, or some accidental 
circumstance intervening; how many of the 
weaknesses of mankind lie has escaped, because 
he was out of the line of such temptation ; and, 
what often, if not always, weighs more than all 
the rest, how much he is indebted to the world's 
good opinion, because the world does not know 
all: I say, any man who can thus think, will 
scan the failings, nay, the faults and crimes, of 
mankind around him, with a brother's eye. 

I have often courted the acquaintance of 
that part of mankind commonly known by the 
ordinary phrase of blackguards^ sometimes far- 
ther than was consistent with the safety of my 
character; those who, by thoughtless prodiga- 
lity or headstrong passions, have been driven 
to ruin. Though - disgraced by follies, nay 
sometimes " stained with guilt, ^ * * * * 
* * *," I have yet found among them, in not 
a few instances, some of the noblest virtues, 
magnanimity, generosity, disinterested friend- 
ship, and even modesty. 



As 



324 



April, 

As I am what the men of the world, if they 
knew such a man, would call a whimsical mor- 
tal, I have various sources of pleasure and en- 
joyment, which are, in a manner, peculiar to 
myself, or some here and there such other 
out-of-the-way person. Such is the peculiar 
pleasure I take in the season of winter, more 
than the rest of the year. This I believe, may 
be partly owing to my misfortunes giving my 
mind a melancholy cast : but there is some- 
thing even in the 

" Mighty tempest, and the hoary waste 

Abrupt and deep, stretchM o'er the buried earth," — 

which raises the mind to a serious sublimity, 
favorable to every thing great and noble. 
There is scarcely any earthly object gives me 
more — I do not know if I should call it plea- 
sure — but something which exalts me, some- 
thing which enraptures me — than to walk in 
the sheltered side of a wood, or high planta- 
tion, in a cloudy winter-day, and hear the 
stormy wind howling among the trees, and 
raving over the plain. It is my best season for 
devotion: my mind is wrapt up in a kind of 

enthusiasm 



S25 

enthusiasm to Him^ who, in the pompous lan- 
guage of the Hebrew bard, *' walks on the 
wings of the wind." In one of these seasons, 
just after a train of misfortunes, I composed 
the following: 



The wint'ry west extends his blast, 

And hail and rain does blaw ; 
Or, the stormy north sends driving forth 

The blinding sleet and snaw: 
While tumbling brown, the burn comes down, 

An' roars frae bank to brae ; 
And bird and beast in covert rest, 

And pass the heartless day. 

" The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"^ 

The joyless winter-day, 
Let others fear, to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May : 
The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, 

My griefs it seems to join. 
The leafless trees my fancy please, 

Their fate resembles mine ! 

Thou 



* Dr. Young. 



356 

Thou Pow'r Supreme^ whose mighty scheme 

These woes of mine fulfil. 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, 

Because they are Tki/ will ! 
Then all I want (O, do thou grant 

This one request of mine I) 
Since to enjoi/ thou dost deny, 

Assist me to resign. 



Shenstone finely observes, that love-verses, 
writ without any real passion, are the most nau- 
seous of all conceits ; and I have often thought 
that no man can be a proper critic of love-com- 
position, except he himself, in one or more in- 
stances, have been a warm votary of this pas- 
sion. As I have been all along a miserable 
dupe to love, and have been led into a thou- 
sand weaknesses and follies by it, for that rea- 
son I put the more confidence in my critical 
skill, in distinguishing foppery and conceit, 
from real passion and nature. Whether the 
following song will stand the test, I will not 
pretend to say, because it is my own ; only I 
can say it was, at the time, genuine from the 
heart. 

Behind 



357 

Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, 
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, 

The wint'ry sun the day has clos'd, 
And I'll awa to Nannie, O. 

The westlin wind blaws loud an shrill ; 

The night's baith mirk and rainy, O, 
But I'll get my plaid an' out I'll steal, 

An' owre the hills to Nannie, O. 

My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' young ; 

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O : 
May ill bef'a' the flattering tongue 

That wad beguile my Nannie, O. 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
As spotless as she's bonnie, O ; 

The op'ning gowan, wet wi' dew, 
Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 

A country lad is my degree, 

An' few there be that ken me, O ; 

But what care I how few they be, 
I'm welcome ay to Nannie, O. 

My riches as my penny-fee, 
An' I maun guide it cannie, ; 

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me. 
My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O. 



Our 



358 

Our auld guidman delights to view 
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O ; 

But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh, 
An' has nae care but Nannie, O. 

Come weel come woe, I care na by, 
I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, O ; 

Nae ither care in life have I, 

But live, an' love my Nannie, O. 



March, 17S4. 

There was a certain period of my life that my 
spirit was broke by repeated losses and disasters, 
which threatened, and indeed effected, the utter 
ruin of my fortune. My body too was attacked 
by that most dreadful distemper, a hypochon- 
dria, or confirmed melancholy : In this wretched 
state, the recollection of which makes me yet 
shudder, I hung my harp on the willow trees, 
except in some lucid intervals, in one of which 
I composed the following—. 

O THOU Great Being ! what thou art 

Surpasses me to know ; 
Yet sure I am, that known to thee 

Are all thy works below. 

Thy 



329 

Thy creature here before thee stands, 
All wretched and distrest ; 

Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 
Obey thy high behest. 

Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or WTath ; 
O, free my weary eyes from tears. 

Or close them fast in death 1 

But if I must afflicted be, 
To suit some wise design ; 

Then man my soul with firm resolves 
To bear and not repine I 



April, 

The following song is a wild rhapsody, miser 
ably deficient in versification, but as the senti- 
ments are the genuine feelings of my heart, for 
that reason I have a particular pleasure in con- 
ning it over. 



SONG. 



S30 

SONG. 

Tune, The Weaver and his Shuttle^ 0, 

My Father was a Farmer upon the Carrick 

border, O 
And carefully he bred me in decency and 

order, O 
He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er 

a farthing, O 
For without an honest manly heart, no man was 

worth regarding, O. 

Then out into the world my course I did deter- 
mine, O 

Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great 
was charming, O 

My talents they were not the worst ; nor yet my 
education : O 

Resolv'd was I, at least to try, to mend my situ- 
ation, O. , 

In many a way, and vain essay, I courted for- 
tune's favor ; O 

Some cause unseen, still stept between, to frus- 
trate each endeavour ; 

Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd ; sometimes 
by friends forsaken ; O, 

And when my hope was at the top, I still was 
worst mistaken, O. 

Then 



331 

Then sore harrass'd, and tir'd at last, with for- 
tune's vain delusion ; O 

I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came 
to this conclusion; O 

The past was bad, and the future hid ; its good 
or ill untryed ; O 

But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I 
would enjoy it, O. 

No help, nor hope, nor view had I ; nor person 
to befriend me ; O 

So I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labor to 
sustain me, O 

To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my fa- 
ther bred me early ; O 

For one, he said, to labor bred, was a match for 
fortune fairly, O. 

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life 
I'm doom'd to wander, O 

Till dow^n my weary bones I lay in everlasting 
slumber: O 

No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed 
me pain or sorrow ; 

r live, to day, as well's I may, regardless of to- 
morrow, O. 

z 5 But 



1 332 

But chearful still, I am as well, as a monarch in a 

palace, O 
Tho' fortune's frown still hunts me down, with 

all her wonted malice ; O 
I make indeed, my daily bread, but ne'er can 

make it farther ; O 
But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much 

regard her, O. 

When sometimes by my labor I earn a little 

money, O 
Some unforeseen misfortune comes generally 

upon me ; O 
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good- 

natur'd folly ; O 
But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er 

be melancholy, O. 

AH you who follow wealth and power with un- 
remitting ardor, O 

The more in this you look for bliss, you leave 
your view the farther ; O 

Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to 

' adore you, O 

A chearful honest hearted clown I will prefer 
before you, O. 



I think 



333 



ApriL 
I think the whole species of young men may 
be naturally enough divided into two grand class- 
es, which I shall call the grave and the merry ; 
though, by the bye, these terms do not with pro- 
priety enough express my ideas. The grave 
I shall cast into the usual division of those who 
are goaded on by the love of money, and those 
whose darling wish is to make a figure in the 
world. The merry are the men of pleasure of 
all denominations ; the jovial lads, who have 
too much fire and spirit to have any settled rule 
of action ; but, without much deliberation, fol- 
low the strong impulses of nature ; the thought- 
less, the careless, the indolent — in particular he^ 
who, with a happy sweetness of natural temper, 
and a chearful vacancy of thought, steals 
through life — generally, indeed, in poverty and 
obscurity ; but poverty and obscurity are only 
evils to him who can sit gravely down and make 
a repining comparison between his own situa- 
tion and that of others ; and lastly, to grace 
the quorum, such are, generally, those whose 
heads are capable of all the towerings of genius, 
and whose hearts are warmed with all the delica- 
cy of feeling. 

August, 
The foregoing was to have been an elaborate 
dissertation on the various species of men ; but 

as 



334 

as I cannot please myself in the arrangement 
of my ideas, I must wait till farther experience, 
and nicer observation, throw more light on the 

subject. In the mean time I shall set down 

the following fragment, which, as it is the genuine 
language of my heart, will enable any body to 
determine which of the classes I belono: to. 

Green grow the rashes^ 0, 

Green grow the rashes^ 0, 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent, 

Are spent amang the lasses, 0. 

There's nought but care on ev'ry han, 

In ev'ry hour that passes, O ; 
What signifies the life o' man, 

An' 'twere na for the lasses, O. 

The warly race may riches chase. 
An' riches still may fly them, O ; 

An' tho' at last they catch them fast, 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. 

But gie me a canny hour at e'en, 
My arms about my dearie, O ; 

An' warly cares, an' warly men. 
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O I 



For 



335 

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O ; 

The wisest man the warl' e'er saw. 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O ! 

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears 
Her noblest work she classes, O ; 

Her prentice ban' she try'd on man, 
An' then she made the lasses, O ! 
Green grow the rashes^ 0, <irc. 

As the o;rand end of human life is to cultivate 
an intercourse w^ith that being to whom we owe 
life, with every enjoyment that renders life de- 
lightful ; and to maintain an integritive conduct 
towards our fellow creatures ; that so, by form- 
ing piety and virtue into habit, we may be fit 
members for that society of the pious, and the 
good, which reason and revelation teach us to 
expect beyond the grave — I do not see that the 
turn of mind, and pursuits of such a one as 
the above verses describe — one who spends 
the hours and thoughts which the vocations of the 
day can spare, with Ossian, Shakespeare, Thom- 
son, Shenstone, Sterne, Ice, ; or as the maggot 
takes him, a gun, a fiddle, or a song to make or 
mend; and at all times some heart's-dear bonie 
lass in view — I say I do not see that the turn 
of mind and pursuits of such a one are in the 
least more inimical to the sacred interests of 

piety 



336 

piety and virtue, than the, even lawful, bustling 
and straining after the world's riches and ho- 
nors : and I do not see but he may gain heaven 
as well, which, by the bye, is no mean considera- 
tion, who steals thro* the vale of life, amusing 
himself with every little flower that fortune 
throws in his way ; as he who straining straight 
forward, and perhaps spattering all about him, 
gains some of life's little eminences, where, after 
all, he can only see and be seen a little more 
conspicuously, than what in the pride of his 
heart, he is apt to term the poor, indolent devil 
he has left behind him. 



Jugust. 

A prayer, when fainting fits, and other alarm- 
ing symptoms of a pleurisy or some other danger- 
ous disorder, which indeed still threatens me, 
first put nature on the alarm. 



O THOU unknown, Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear I 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour. 

Perhaps I must appear. 



If 



337 

If I have wander'd in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun ; 
As somethings loudly, in my breast, 

Remonstrates I have done ; 

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me 
With passions wild and strong; 

And list'ning to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness has come short, 

Ox frailty stept aside, 
Do thou, All Good I for such thou art. 

In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have err'd, 

No other plea I have, 
But, Thou art good; and goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. \ 



August. 

Misgivings in the hour of despondency and 
prospect of death. 

Why 



3S^ 

Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene 1 

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms I 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between: 

Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms : 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? 

Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode? 
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms ; 

I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart i)eneath his sin-avenging rod, 

Fain would I say, ' Forgive my foul ofience 1' 

Fain promise never more to disobey ; 
But, should my author health again dispense. 

Again I might desert fair virtue's way ; 
Again in folly's path might go astray ; 

Again exalt the brute and sink the man ; 
Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray, 

Who act so counter heavenly mercy's planf 
Who sin so oft have mourn'd yet to temptation 
ran X 

O Thou, great governor of all below ! 

If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 

Or still the tumult of the raging sea ; 
With that controling pow'r assist ev'n me, 

Those headlong furious passions to confine ; 
For all unfit I feel my powers to be, 

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line, 
O, aid me with thy help. Omnipotence Divine ! 

Egotisms 



339 

Egotisms /rom my own Sensations. 

May. 

I don't well know what is the reason of it, but 
some how or other though I am, when I have a 
mind, pretty generally beloved ; yet, I never 
could get the art of commanding respect/^ — I 
imagine it is owing to my being deficient in what 
Sterne calls " that understrapping virtue of dis- 
cretion." 



* There is no doubt that if Burns at any time really 
laboured under this infirmity, he was successful in en- 
quiring into its causes, and also in his efforts to amend 
it. When he was at a later period of life, introduced into 
the superior circles of society, he did not appear then 
as a cypher, nor did he by any violation of the dictates 
of common sense, give any occasion, even to those who 
were superciliously disposed to look upon him with con- 
tempt. On the contrary, he was conscious of his own 
moral and intellectual worth, and never abated an inch of 
his just claims to due consideration* The following 
extract of a letter from his great and good biographer, 
who was an excellent judge of human character, bears 
an honorable testimony to the habitual firmness, decision, 
and independence of his mind, which constitute the only 
solid basis of respectability. 

" Burns was a very singular man in the strength and va- 
riety of his faculties/— I saw him, and once only, in the year 

1792. 



340 

cretlon." — I am so apt to a lapsus lingua^ that I 
sometimes think the character of a certain great 
man, I have read of somewhere, is very much apro- 
pos to myself — that he was a compound of great 
talents and great folly. N. B. To try if I can dis- 
cover the causes of this wretched infirmity, and, 
if possible, to mend it. 



SONG. 

Tho* cruel fate should bid us part, 

As far's the pole and line ; 
Her dear idea round my heart 

Should tenderly entwine. 

Tho' mountains frown and desarts howl, 

And oceans roar between ; 
Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, 

I still would love my Jean. 



Fragment. 



1792. We conversed together for about an hour in the 
street of Dumfries, and engaged in some very animated 
conversation — We differed in our sentiments sufficiently 
to be rather vehemently engaged — and this interview gave 
me a more lively as well as forcible impression of his ta- 
lents than any part of his writings. — He was a great 
ORATOR, — an original and very versatile genius." 
^d Octeber, 1799. 



341 

Fragment. 
Tune, John Anderson my jfo- 

One night as I did wander, 

When corn begins to shoot, 
I sat me down to ponder, 

Upon an auld tree root : 
Auld Aire ran by before me, 

And bicker'd to the seas ; 
A cushat* crouded o'er me 

That echoed thro' the braes. 



Fragment. 
Tune, Daintie Davie, 

Theie was a lad was born in Kyle,+ 
But what na day o' what na style 
I doubt its hardly worth the while 
To be sae nice wi' Robin. 

Robin was a rovin* Boy, 

Rantin rovin\ rantin' rovin' ; 

Robin was a rovin' Boy, 
Rantin' rovin' Robin. 



* The dove, or wild pigeon. 
t K]/k — a district of Ayrshire. 



Our 



342 

Our monarch's hindmost year but ane 
Was five and twenty days begun, 
'Twas then a blast o'Janwar Win* 
Blew hansel in on Robin, 

The gossip keckit in his loof, 
Quo' scho wha lives will see the proof, 
This waly boy will be nae coof, 
I think we'll ca' him Robin. 

He'll hae misfortunes great and sma*, 
But ay a heart aboon them a'; 
He'll be a credit 'till us a'. 
We'll a' be proud o' Robin. 

But sure as three times three mak nine, 
I see by ilka score and line, 
This chap will dearly like our kin'. 
So leeze me on thee Robin. 

Guid faith quo' scho I doubt you Sir, 
Ye gar the lasses '''' "'' "'' * 
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur 
So blessin's on thee, Robin.' 
Robin was arovin' Boy., 

RantivL rovin\ rant in' rovin' ; 
Robin was a rovin' Boy^ 
Rantin' ravin' Robin, 



Elegy 



34S 

Elegy 
On the Death of Robert Ruisseaux:^ 

Now Robin lies in his last lair, 

He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair, 

Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, 

Nae mair shall fear him ; 
Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care 

E'er mair come near him. 

To tell the truth, they seldom fash't him, 
Except the moment that they crush't him ; 
For sune as chance or fate had husht 'em 

Tho' e'er sae short, 
Then wi' a rhyme or song he lasht 'em, 

And thought it sport. — » 

Tho' he was bred to kintra wark, 

And counted was baith wight and stark, 

Yet that was never Robin's mark 

To mak a man ; 
But tell him, he was learn'd arid dark, 

Ye roos'd him then ! t 

August, 



^ Ruisseaux — a play on his own name, 
t Ye roos'd — ^ye prais'd. 



344 



However I am pleased v/ith the works of our 
Scotch poets, particularly the excellent Ramsay, 
and the still more excellent Fergusson, yet I am 
hurt to see other places of Scotland, their towns, 
rivers, woods, haughs, 8cc. immortalized in 
such celebrated performances, while my dear 
native country, the ancient bailieries of Carrick, 
Kyle, and Cunningham, famous both in ancient 
and modern times for a gallant and warlike 
race of inhabitants ; a country where civil, and 
particularly religious liberty have ever found 
their first support, and their last asylum ; 
a country, the birth-place of many famous phi- 
losophers, soldiers, and statesmen, and the 
scene of many important events recorded in 
Scottish history, particularly a great many of the 
actions of the glorious Wallace, the Saviour 
of his country; yet, we have never had one 
Scotch poet of any eminence, to make the fer- 
tile banks of Irvine, the romantic woodlands 
and sequestered scenes on Aire, and the healthy 
mountainous source, and winding sweep of 
DooN, emulate Tay, Forth, Ettrick, Tweed, 8cc. 
This is a complaint I would gladly remedy, but 
alas ! I am far unequal to the task, both in na- 
tive 



845 



live genius and education.'*' Obscure lam, and 
obscure I must be, though no young poet, nor 



youn 



* This kind of feeling appears to have animated the 
poet's bosom at a very early period of his life. In a poe- 
tical epistle addressed to " Mrs. Scott, of Wauchope 
House," dated March, 1787, he alludes to the sensations 
of his early days in the following tender strain of sen- 
timent. 

GUIDWIFE, 

I mind it weel, in early date, 

When I was beardless, young and blate, 

An' first could thresh the barn,, 
Or baud a yokin at the pleugh. 
An' tho' fu' foughten sair eneugh. 

Yet unco proud to learn. 

Ev'n then a wish (I mind its power) 
A wish, that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast ; 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake, 
Some useful plan, or beuk could make, 

Or sing a song at least. 

The rough bur-thistle spreading wide 

Amang the bearded bear, 
I turned my weeding heuk aside, 

An' spared the symbol dear. 

* * * * 



A. A 



34() 

young soldier's heart, ever beat more fondly for 
fame than mine — 

And if there is no other scene of being 
Where my insatiate wish may have its fill ; — 
This something at my heart that heaves for room, 
My best, my dearest part was made in vain, — 



Aug, 
A Fragment. Tune — I had a horse and I 

HAD NAE MAIR. 

When first I came to Stewart Kyle, 

My mind it was nae steady. 
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade 

A mistress still I had ay r 

But when I came roun' by Mauchline town, 

Not dreadin' any body, 
My heart was caught before I thought. 

And by a Mauchline lady. 



Sept. 

There is a great irregularity in the old Scotch 

songs, 



241 

songs, a redundancy of syllables with respect to 
that exactness of accent and measure that the 
English poetry requires, but which glides in, 
most melodiously, with the respective tunes to 
which they are set. For instance, the fine old 
song of The Mill^ Mill^ 0, to give it a plain pro- 
saic reading it halts prodigiously out of mea- 
sure ; on the other hand, the song set to the 
same tune in Bremner's collection of Scotch 
songs, which begins " To Fanny fair could I im- 
part, Q^c," it is most exact measure, and yet, let 
them both be sung before a real critic, one 
above the biasses of prejudice, but a thorough 
judge of nature, — how flat and spiritless will 
the last appear, how trite, and lamely methodi- 
cal, compared with the wild-warbling cadence, 
the heart-moving melody of the first. — This is 
particularly the case with all those airs which 
end with a hypermetrical syllable. There is a 
degree of wild irregularity in many of the com- 
positions and fragments which are daily sung to 
them by my compeers, the common people — a 
certain happy arrangement of old Scotch sylla- 
bles, and yet, very frequently, nothing, not 
even like Rhyme, or sameness of jingle, at the 
ends of the lines. This has made me sometimes 
imagine that, perhaps it might be possible for a 
Scotch poet, with a nice judicious ear, to set 
compositions to many of our most favourite airs, 
A A 5 particularly 



348 



particularly that class of them mentioned above, 
independent of rhyme altogether. 



There is a noble sublimity, a heart-meltihg ten- 
derness, in some of our ancient ballads, which 
shew them to be the work of a masterly hand : and 
it has often given me many a heart-ache to reflect, 
that such glorious old bards — bards who very pro- 
bably owed all their talents to native genius, yet 
have described the exploits of heroes, the pangs 
of disappointment, and the meltings of love, 
with such fine strokes of nature — that their very 
names (O how mortifying to a bard's vanity!) 
are now " buried among the wreck of things 
which were." 

O ye illustrious names unknown ! who could 
feel so strongly and describe so well ; the last, 
the meanest of the muses train — one who, 
though far inferior to your flights, yet eyes your 
path, and with trembling wing would some- 
times soar after you — a poor rustic bard un- 
known, pays this sympathetic pang to your me- 
mory I Some of you tell us, with all the charms 
of verse, that you have been unfortunate in the 
world—unfortunate in love : he too has felt the 
loss of his little fortune, the loss of friends, 

and, 



349 

and, worse than all, the loss of the woman he 
adored. Like you, all his consolation wa« his 
muse : she taught him in rustic measures to com- 
plain. Happy could he have done it with your 

strenorth of imagination and flow of vers^^ ^^"^^ 
r- - o -'/ vyxi your bonca. t^x*^ may you 

now enjoy that solace and rest which this world 
rarely gives to the heart tuned to all the feel- 
ings of poesy and love. 



JSept, 

The following fragment is done,"^ something 
in imitation of the manner of a noble old Scot- 
tish piece called M'Millan's Peggy, and sings to 
the tune of Galla Water. — My Montgomerie's 
Peggy was my deity for six or eight months. 
She had been bred, (tho' as the world says, with- 
out any just pretence for it,) in a style of life 
rather elegant — ^but as Vanburgh says in one of 

his comedies. My " d d star found me out" 

there too ; for though I began the^ affair merely 
in a gaiete de caur, or to tell the truth, which 
will scarcely be believed, a vanity of shew- 
ing my parts in courtship, particularly my abi 
lities at a Billet-doux, which I always piqued my- 
self 



This passage explains the love letters to Peggy. 



350 

self upon, made me lay siege to her ; and when, 

as I always do in my foolish gallantries, I had 

battered my self into a very warm affection for her, 

she told me, one day, in a flag of truce, that her 

^r~7^^^'' ^^H been for some time before the ris;ht- 
tul property oi anuLi*^. , . , , 

••! « -, o-reatest 
friendship and politeness, she offered me every 

alliance except actual possession. I found out 

afterwards that what she told me of a pre-engage- 

ment was really true ; but it cost me some heart- 

achs to get rid of the affair. 

I have even tried to imitate, in this extempore 
thing, that irregularity in the rhyme, which, 
when judiciously done, has such a fine effect on 
the ear. — 



Fragment. — Tune Gallawater. 

Altho' my bed were in yon muir, 
Amang the heather, in my plaidie, 

Yet happy, happy would I be 

Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy. — ■ 

When o'er the hill beat surly storms, 
And winter nights were dark and rainy ; 

I'd seek some dell, and in my arms 

I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy. — 

Were 



351 



Were I a Baron proud and high, 

And horse and servants waiting ready, 

Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me. 

The sharin't with Montgomerie's Peggy. — 



Se]ptember. 

There is another fragment in imitation of an 
old Scotch song, well known among the country 
ingle sides. — I cannot tell the name, neither of 
the song nor the tune, but they are in fine unison 
with one another. — By the way, these old Scot- 
tish airs are so nobly sentimental, that when one 
would compose to them ; to south the tune, as 
our Scotch phrase is, over and over, is the 
readiest way to catch the inspiration and raise 
the bard into that glorious enthusiasm so strong- 
ly characteristic of our old Scotch poetry. I 
shall here set down one verse of the piece men- 
tioned above, both to mark the song and tune I 
mean, and likewise as a debt I owe to the author, 
as the repeating of that verse has lighted up my 
flame a thousand times. — ^ 

*' When clouds in skies do come t02;ether 

To hide the brightness of the sun. 
There will surely be some pleasant weather 

When a' their storms are past and gone." * 

Though 

* Alluding to the misfortunes he feelingly laments be- 
fore this verse. (This is the authors note.) 



35^ 

Though fickle fortune has deceiv'd me, 
She promis'd fair and perform'd but ill ; 

Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd me, 
Yet I bear a heart shall support ra.e still. — 

I'll act with prudence as far's I'm able, 
But if success I must never find, 

Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome, 
I'll meet thee with an undaunted mind. — 

The above was an extempore, under the pres- 
sure of a heavy train of misfortunes, which, in- 
deed, threatened to undo me altogether. It was 
just at the close of that dreadful period mention- 
ed page viii. ;* and though the weather has 
brightened up a little with me, yet there has 
always been since a tempest brewing round me 
in the grim sky of futurity, which I pretty 
plainly see will some time or other, perhaps ere 
long, overwhelm me, and drive me into some 
doleful dell, to pine in solitary, squalid wretch- 
edness. — However, as I hope my poor country 
muse, who, all rustic, awkward, and unpolished 
as she is, has more charms for me than any other 
of the pleasures of life beside — as I hope she will 
not then desert me, I may even then, learn to be, 

if 



* Of the original MS. see the remark, March^ 1784, 
beginning, " There was a ceitain period" <?rc. 



353 

if not happy, at least easy, and south a sang to 
sooth my misery. 

'Twas at the same time I set about composing 
an air in the old Scotch style. — I am not musical 
scholar enough to prick down my tune properly, 
so it can never see the light, and perhaps 'tis no 
great matter, but the following were the verses I 
composed to suit it: 

O raoiins: fortune's withering; blast 

Has laid my leaf full low I O 
O raging fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low ! O. 
My stem was fair, my bud was green, 

My blossom sweet did blow ; O 
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild, 

And made my branches grow ; O 
But luckless fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O 
But luckless fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O. 

The tune consisted of three parts, so that the 
above verses just went through the whole air. 



October^ 



354 



October, 1785. 

If ever any young man, in the vestibule of the 
world, chance to throw his eye over these pages, 
let him pay a warm attention to the following 
observations ; as I assure him they are the fruit 
of a poor devil's dear-bought experience. — I have, 
literally, like that great poet and great gallant, 
and by consequence, that great fool, Solomon, — 
" turned my eyes to behold madness and fol- 
ly." — Nay, I have, with all the ardor of a lively, 
fanciful, and whimsical imagination, accompanied 
with a warm, feeling, poetic heart — shaken 
hands with their intoxicating friendship. 

In the first place, let my pupil, as he tenders, 
his own peace, keep up a regular, warm inter- 
course with the deity, 'i^ * * * 
* * (Here the MSS. abruptly close|, ;. 



JOURNALS. 



{ 



357 



The following Journal contains remarks on a Pilgrim- 
age over some of the classic ground of Scotland, 

" Bi/ the new edition of his poems, (Dr, Currie 
observes, ) Burns acquired a sum of money that ena- 
bled him not only to partake of the pleasures of 
Edinburgh, but to gratify a desire he had long enter- 
tained, of visiting those parts of his native country, most 
attractive by their beauty or their grandeur; a desire 
which the return of summer naturally revived. The 
scenery on the banks of the Tweed, and of its tributary 
streams, strongly interested his fa^cy ; arid accordingly 
he left Edinburgh on the 6th of I^ay, 1787, on a tour 
through a country so much celebrated in the rural songs 
of Scotland." ' 



JOURNAL, No. I. 

May 6, 1787. 

Left Edinburgh— Lammermuir-hills 
miserably dreary, but at times very picturesque. 
— Lanton-edge, a glorious t/iew of the Merse — 
Reach Berry well — old Mr. Ainslie an uncommon 
character; — his hobbies, Agriculture, Natural 
Philosophy, and Politics. — In the first he is un- 

exceptionably 



358 

exceptionably the clearest-headed, best-informed 
man I ever met with ; in the other two, very in- 
telligent : — As a man of business he has uncom- 
mon merit, and by fairly deserving it has made 
a very decent independence. Mrs. Ainslie, an 
excellent, sensible, chearful, amiable old woman. 
— Miss Ainslie — her person a little embonpoint^ 
but handsome ; her face, particularly her eyes, 
full of sweetness and good humor — she unites 
three qualities rarely to be found together ; keen 
solid penetration ; sly, witty observation and re- 
mark ; and the gentlest, most unaffected female 
modesty— Douglas, a clever, fine promising young 
fellow. — The family-meeting with their brother,* 
my compagnon de voyage^ very charming ; parti- 
cularly the sister. L The whole family remarkably 
attached to their inenials — Mrs. A. full of sto- 
ries of the sagacity and sense of the little girl in 
the kitchen. — Mr*! A. high in the praises of an 
African, his hous^servant — All his people old in 
his service — Douglas's old nurse came to Berry- 
well yesterday to ftmind them of its being Dou- 
glas's birth-day. 

A Mr. Dudgeon,k poet at times, a worthy, re- 

, ^* markable 



* The gentleman to wiom several letters, inserted in 
this volume^ are addressed bv Burns. 



\ 



359 

markable character — natural penetration, a great 
deal of information, some genius, and extreme 
modesty. 

Sunday. — Went to church at Dunse'^—Dr, 
B. a man of strong lungs, and pretty judicious 
remark ; but ill skilled in propriety, and altoge- 
ther unconscious of his want of it. 

Monday. — Coldstream — went over to England 
— Cornhill — glorious river Tweed — clear and 
majestic — fine bridge. — Dine at Coldstream with 

Mr. Ainslie and Mr. Foreman — beat Mr. F 

in a dispute about Voltaire. — Tea at Lenel House 
with Mr. Brydon. ^ * * * 

Mr. 

^ During the discourse ]5urns produced a neat im- 
promptu, conveying an elegmt compliment to Miss Ain- 
slie. Dr. B. had selected a test of Scripture that contained 
a heavy denunciation against \ obstinate sinners. In the 
course of the sermon Burns piperved the young lady turn- 
ing over the leaves of her bibla with much earnestness, in 
search of the text. He took ott a slip of paper, and with 
a pencil wrote the following |nes on it, which he imme- 
diately presented to her. ( 

Fair maid you need n<ntake the hint, 

Nor idle texts pursu^:^ — 
'Twas guilty sinners thj(t he meant, — 

Not angels such as you ! 



360 

first honored me with his friendship/' yet I am 
as proud as ever ; and when I am laid in my 
grave, I wish to be stretched at my full length, 
that I may occupy every inch of ground which 
I have a right to. 



You would laugh, were you to see me where 
I am just novf : — Here am I set, a solitary her- 
mit, in the solitary room of a solitary inn, with 
a solitary bottle of wine by me — as grave and 
as stupid as an owl — but like that owl, still 
faithful to my old song; in confirmation of 
which, my dear " * "^^ '" here is your 
good health I May the hand-wal'd bennisons 
o' heaven bless your bonie face ; and the wratch 
wha skellies at your weelfare, may the auld 
tinkler deil get him to clout his rotten heart I 
Amen I 



I mentioned to you my letter to Dr. Moore, 
giving an account of my life : it is truth, every 
word of it ; and will give you the just idea of 
a man whom you have honored with your 
friendship. I wish you to see me as I am. 
I am, as most people of my trade are, a strange 

Will 

* Alluding to the time of his first appearance in 
Edioburgh. 



361 

Will o'Wisp being, the victim, too frequently, 
of much imprudence and many follies. My 
great constituent elements are pride and pas- 
sion. The first I have endeavoured to humanize 
into integrity and honor ; the last makes me a 
devotee to the warmest degree of enthusiasm, 
in love, religion, or friendship ; either of them, 
or altogether, as I happen to be inspired. 



What trifling silliness is the childish fond- 
ness of the every-day children of the world I 
'Tis the unmeaning toying of the younglings 
of the fields and forests : but where senti- 
ment and fancy unite their sweets ; where taste 
and delicacy refine ; where wit adds the fla- 
vor, and good sense gives strength and spirit 
to all, what a delicious draught is the hour 
of tender endearment I — beauty and grace in 
the arms of truth and honor, in all the 
luxury of mutual love i 

■ Innocence 



Looks gaily-smiling on ; while rosy pleasure 
Hides young desire amid her flowery wreath, 
And pours her cup luxuriant ; mantling high 
The sparkling heavenly vintage, Love and 
Bliss ! 

Those 



362 

Those of either sex, but particularly the fe* 
male, who are lukewarm in that most important 
of all things, religion — " O my soul, come not 
" thou into their secret 1" I will lay before you 
the outlines of my belief. He, who is our 
author and preserver, and will one day be our 
judge, must be, (not for his sake in the way of 
duty, but from the native impulse of our hearts,) 
the object of our reverential awe, and grateful 
adoration: He is almighty and all-bounteous; 
we are w eak and dependent : hence, prayer and 

every other sort of devotion. " He is not 

" willing that any should perish, but that all 
" should come to everlasting life ;'* consequent- 
ly it must be in every one's power to embrace 
his offer of *' everlasting life;" otherwise he 
could not, in justice, condemn those who did 
not. A mind pervaded, actuated and governed 
by purity, truth and charity, though it does not 
merii heaven, yet is an absolutely necessary pre- 
requisite, without which heaven can neither be 
obtained nor enjoyed ; and, by divine promise, 
such a mind shall never fail of attaining '' ever- 
" lasting life:" hence, the impure, the deceiv- 
ing, and the uncharitable, exclude themselves 
from eternal bliss, by their unfitness for enjoy- 
ing it. The Supreme Being has put the im- 
mediate administration of all this, for wise and 
good ends known to himself, into the hands of 

Jesus 



363 

Jesus Christ, a great personage, whose relation to 
him we cannot comprehend ; but whose relation 
to us is a Guide and Saviour ; and who, except 
for our own obstinacy and misconduct, will 
bring us all, through various ways, and by vari- 
ous means, to bliss at last. 

These are my tenets, my friend. My creed 
is pretty nearly expressed in the last clause of 
Jamie Dearth grace, an honest weaver in Ayr- 
shire ; '' Lord grant that we may lead a gude 
" life I for a gude life maks a gude end, at least 
«' it helps weel!" 



A Mother s Address to her Infant.^ 

My blessins upon thy sweet, wee lippie ! 

My blessins upon thy bonie e'e brie ! 
Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie^ 

Thou's ay the dearer, and dearer to me ! 



I am 



* These tender lines were added by tiie Poet, to old 
words that he had collected, of a song called Bonie 
Dundee, which appeared for the first tinae in print in the 
Musical Museum, E, 



364 

I am an odd being : some yet unnamed feel- 
ings, things, not principles, but better than 
whims, carry me farther than boasted reason 
ever did a philosopher. 



There's naethin like the honest nappy I 
Whaur'U ye e'er see men sae happy, 
Or women sonsie, saft an' sappy, 

'Tween morn an' morn, 
As them wha like to taste the drappie 

In glass or horn. 

I've seen me daez't upon a time ; 
I scarce could wink or see a styme ; 
Just ae hauf muchkin does me prime, 

Ought less is little, 
Then back I rattle on the rhyme 

As gleg's a whittle! 



Coarse minds are not aware how much they 
injure the keenly-feeling tie of bosom-friendship, 
when in their foolish officiousness, they mention 
what nobody cares for recollecting. People of 
nice sensibility, and generous minds, have a cer- 
tain 



365 

tain intrinsic dignity, that fires at being trifled 
with, or lowered, or even too nearly ap- 
proached. 



Some days, some nights, nay some hours^ like 
the " ten righteous persons in Sodom," save the 
rest of the vapid, tiresome, miserable months 
and years of life. 



To be feelingly alive to kindness and to un- 
kindness, is a charming female character. 



I have a little infirmity in my disposition, 
that where I fondly love or highly esteem, I 
cannot bear reproach. 



If I have robbed you of a friend, God forgive 
me : But be comforted : let us raise the tone of 
our feelings a little higher and bolder. A fel- 
low-creature who leaves us, who spurns us with- 
out 



366 



out just cause, though once our bosom friend- 
up with a little honest pride — let him go I 



A decent means of livelihood in the World, an 
approving God, a peaceful conscience, and one 
firm trusty friend ; can any body that has these, 
be said to be unhappy ? 



The dignified and dignifying consciousness of 
an honest man, and the well grounded trust in 
approving heaven, are two most substantial 
sources of happiness. 



Give me, my Maker, to remember thee! 
Give me to feel " another's woe;" and continue 
with me that dear-lov'd friend that feels with 



mine I 



Your religious sentiments I revere. If you 
have on some suspicious evidence, from some 
lying oracle, learned that I despise or ridicule so 

sacredly 



367 

sacredly important a matter as real religion, yoil 
have much misconstrued your friend. " I am 
not mad most noble Festus 1" Have you ever 
met a perfect character ? Do we not sometimes 
rather exchange faults than get rid of them ? 
For instance; I am perhaps tired with and 
shocked at a life, too much the prey of giddy 
inconsistencies and thoughtless follies ; by de- 
grees I grow sober, prudent, and statedly pious, 
I say statedly^ because the most unaffected devo- 
tion is not at all inconsistent with my first 
character. — I join the world in congratulating 
myself on the happy change. But let me pry 
more narrowly into this affair; have I, at bot- 
tom, any thing of a secret pride in these en- 
dowments and emendations ? have I nothing of a 
presbyterian sourness, a hypercritical severity, 
when I survey my less regular neighbours ? In 
a word, have I missed all those nameless and 
numberless modifications of indistinct selfish- 
ness, which are so near our own eyes, that Vve 
can scarce bring them within our sphere of vi- 
sion, and which the known spotles^s cambric of 
our character hides from the ordinary ob- 
server ? 



My definition of worth is short : truth and hu- 
manity respecting our fellow-creatures ; rever- 
ence 



368 

ence and humility in the presence of that Being 
my Creator and Preserver, and who, I have 
every reason to believe, will one day be my 
Judge. The first part of my definition is the 
creature of unbiassed instinct ; the last is the 
child of after reflection. Where I found these 
two essentials, I would gently note, and slightly 
mention any attendant flaws — flaws, the marks, 
the consequences of human nature. 



How wretched is the condition of one who is 
haunted with conscious guilt, and trembling 
under the idea of dreaded vengeance I and what 
a placid calm, what a charming secret enjoyment 
it gives, to bosom the kind feelings of friendship 
and the fond throes of love I Out upon the tem- 
pest of anger, the acrimonious gall of fretful im- 
patience, the sullen frost of lowering resentment, 
or the corroding poison of withered envy ! They 
eat up the immortal part of man I If they spent 
their fury only on the unfortunate objects of 
them, it would be something in their favor; 
but these miserable passions, like traitor Iscariot, 
betray their lord and master. 

Thou, Almighty Author of peace, and goodness, 
and love I do thou give me the social heart that 
kindly tastes of every man's cup ! Is it a draught 

of 



369 

of joy ? — warm and open my heart to share it with 
cordial, unenvying rejoicing 1 Is it the bitter 
potion of sorrow? — melt my heart with sincerely 
sympathetic woe I Above all, do thou give me 
the manly mind, that resolutely exemplifies, in 
life and manners, those sentiments which I would 
wish to be thought to possess I The friend of my 
soul — there may I never deviate from the firmest 
fidelity, and most active kindness ! there may 
the most sacred, inviolate honor, the most faith- 
ful, kindling constancy, ever watch and animate 
my every thought and imagination ! 

Did you ever meet with the following lines 
spoken of religion : 



** 'Tis this^ my friend, that streaks our morning 

bright ; 
" 'Tis this^ that gilds the horror of our night ! 
'' When wealth forsakes us, and when friends 

are few ; 
" When friends are faithless, or when foes pur- 
sue ; 
°' 'Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart, 
" Disarms affliction, or repels its dart : 
" Within the breast bids purest raptures rise, 
'' Bids smiling conscience spread her cloudless 
skies." 



I met 



370 

I met with these verses very early in life, and 
was so delighted with them, that I have them by 
me, copied at school. 



I have heard and read a good deal of philoso- 
phy, benevolence and greatness of soul ; and 
when rounded with the flourish of declamatory 
periods, or poured in the melifluence of Par- 
nassian measure, they have a tolerable eflect on 
a musical ear ; but when all these high-sounding 
professions are compared with the very act and 
deed, as it is usually performed, I do not think 
there is any thing in or belonging to human na-^ 
ture so baldly disproportionate. In fact, were it 
not for a very few of our kind, among whom an 
honored friend of mine, whom to you, Sir, I 
will not name, is a distinguished instance, the 
very existence of magnanimity, generosity, and 
all their kindred virtues, would be as touch a 
question with metaphysicians as the existence of 
witchcraft. 



There is no time when the conscious, thrilling 
chords of love and friendship give such delight, 
as in the pensive hours of what Thomson calls 

" Philosophic 



371 

" Philosophic Melancholy." The family of mis- 
fortune, a numerous group of brothers and sis- 
ters ! they need a resting place to their souls. 
Unnoticed, often condemned by the world ; in 
some degree, perhaps condemned by themselves, 
they feel the full enjoyment of ardent love, de- 
licate tender endearments, mutual esteem, and 
mutual reliance. 

/ In this light I have often admired religion. 
In proportion as we are Avrung with grief, or 
distracted with anxiety, the ideas of a compas- 
sionate Deity, an Almighty Protector, are 
doubly dear. 



I have been, this morning, taking a peep 
through, as Young finely says, " the dark post- 
" ern of time long elapsed ;" 'twas a rueful pros- 
pect ! What a tissue of thoughtlessness, weak- 
ness, and folly I My life reminded me of a ruin- 
ed temple. What strength, what proportion in 
some parts ! what unsightly gaps, what prostrate 
ruins in others I I kneeled down before the Fa- 
ther of Mercies, and said, " Father I have sinned 
" against Heaven, and in thy sight, and am no 
" more worthy to be called thy son." I rose, 
eased, and strengthened. 

G c 



LETTERS 



FROM WILLIAM BURNS, 



AND 



AN ACCOUNT OF HIS DEATH. 



c c 2 



LETTERS 
FROM WILLIAM BURNS TO THE POET. 



The Editor conceived that it might not be uninteresting 
to the admirers of Burns to peruse the following Letters, 
selected from a greater number that have fallen into his 
hands. They are the genuine and artless productions of his 
younger Brother, William Burns, a young man, who 
after having served an apprenticeship to the trade of a 
Saddler, took his road towards the South, and having re- 
sided a short time at 'Newcastle-upon-Tyne, arrived in 
London, where he died of a put rid fever in the year 1790. 

If the Reader supposes he shall meet in these Letters 
with that vivacity of genius which the near relationship of 
the Writer to the Poet might lead him to expect, he will 
he disappointed. They contain indeed little more than 
the common transactions incident to the humble li?ie of 
life of their author, expressed in simple and unaffected 
language. But to those whose admiration and affection 
for the Poet extend to his relations and concerns, they are 
not without their value. They demonstrate the kind and 
fraternal attachment of Burns, in a strong and amiable 
point of view; they form an additional eulogy on the me- 
mory of the excellent Father, who had given all his som 
an education superior to their situation in life, and assidu- 

omlif 



376 

6mly inculcated upon them the best principles of virtue 
and morality ; and they exhibit the picture of a contented 
and an uncontaminated youth, who, as he would never 
have attempted the dangerous heights to zvhich the Poet 
aspired, would never have experienced those pangs of dis- 
appointment and remorse zohich incessantly agitated his 
bosom; but would 

" Thro' the calm sequestered vale of life, 
Have kept the noiseless tenor of his way** 



No. I. 
To Mr. ROBERT BURNS, Ellisland, 

Longtown, Feb. 15, 1789« 

DEAR SIR5 

As I am now in a manner only entering 
into the world, I begin this our eorrespondence, 
with a view of being a gainer by your advice, 
more than ever you can be by any thing I can 
write you of what I see, or what I hear, in the 
course of my wanderings. I know not how it 
happened, but you were more shy of your coun- 
sel than I could have wished the time I staid 

with 



377 

with you : whether it was because you thought 
it would disgust me to have my faults freely 
told me while I was dependant on you ; or whe- 
ther it was because you saw that by my indolent 
disposition, your instructions would have no 
effect, I cannot determine ; but if it proceeded 
from any of the above causes, the reason of with- 
holding your admonition is now done away, for 
I now stand on my own bottom, and that indo- 
lence, which I am very conscious of, is some- 
thing rubbed off, by being called to act in life 
whether I will or not ; and my inexperience, 
which I daily feel, makes me wish for that ad- 
vice which you are so able to give, and which I 
can only expect from you or Gilbert since the 
loss of the kindest and ablest of fathers. 

The morning after I went from the Isle, I left 
Dumfries about five o'clock and came to Annan 
to breakfast, and staid about an hour; and I 
reached this place about two o'clock. I have 
got work here, and I intend to stay a month or 
six weeks, and then go forward, as I wish to be 
at York about the latter end of summer, where I 
propose to spend next winter, and go on for 
London in the spring. 

I have the promise of seven shillings a week 
from Mr. Proctor while I stay here, and six- 
pence 



378 

pence more if he succeeds himself, for he has 
only new begun trade here. I am to pay four 
shillings per week of board wages, so that my 
neat income here will be much the same as in 
Dumfries. 

The inclosed you will send to Gilbert with 
the first opportunity. Please send me the first 
Wednesday after you receive this, by the Car- 
lisle waggon, two of my coarse shirts, one of my 
best linen ones, my velveteen vest, and a neck- 
cloth ; write to me along with them, and direct 
to me, Saddler, in Longtown, and they will not 
miscarry, for I am boarded in the waggoner's 
house. You may either let them be given in to 
the waggon, or send them to Coulthard and Gel- 
lebourn's shop and they will forward them. 
Pray wTite me often while I stay here.— I wish 
you would send me a letter, though never so 
small, every week, for they will be no expense 
to me and but little trouble to you. Please to 
give my best wishes to my sister-in-law, and be- 
lieve me to be your affectionate 

And obliged Brother, 

WILLIAM BURNS. 

P. S. The great coat you gave me at parting 
did me singular service the day I came here, and 
merits my hearty thanks. From what has been 

said 



379 

said the conclusion is this ; that my hearty 
thanks and my best wishes are all that you and 
ray sister must expect from 

W. B. 



No. II. 

Newcastle, Q4th Jan, 1790* 

i>EAR BROTHER, 

I WROTE you about six weeks ago, and 
I have expected to hear from you every post 
since, but I suppose your excise business which 
you hinted at in your last, has prevented you 
from writing. By the bye, when and how have 
you got into the excise ; and what division have 
you got about Dumfries ? These questions please 
answer in your next, if more important matter 
do not occur. But in the mean time let me 
have the letter to John Murdoch, which Gilbert 
wrote me you meant to send ; inclose it in 
your's to me and let me have them as soon as 

possible, 



SSo 

possible, for I intend to sail for London, in 
a fortnight, or three weeks at farthest. 

You promised me when I was intending to 
go to Edinburgh, to write me some instructions 
about behaviour in companies rather above my 
station, to which I might be eventually in- 
troduced. As I may be introduced into such 
companies at Murdoch's or on his account 
when I go to London, I wish you would write 
me some such instructions now : I never had 
more need of them, for having spent little of 
my time in company of any sort since I came 
to Newcastle, I have almost forgot the common 
civilities of life. To these instructions pray 
add some of a moral kind, for though (either 
through the strength of early impressions, or the 
frigidity of my constitution) I have hitherto with- 
stood the temptation to those vices, to which 
young fellows of my station and time of life are 
so much addicted, yet, I do not know if my 
virtue will be able to withstand the more 
powerful temptations of the metropolis : yet, 
through God's assistance and your instructions 
I hope to weather the storm. 

Give the compliments of the season and my 
love to my sisters, and all the rest of your 
family. Tell Gilbert the first time you write 

him 



381 

him that I am well, and that I will write him 
either when I sail or when I arrive at London. 

I ana, 8cc. 

W. B. 



No. III. 



London, Qlst March, 1790. 



DEAR BROTHER, 

I HAVE been here three weeks come 
Tuesday, and would have written you sooner 
but was not settled in a place of work. — We 
were ten days on our passage from Shields ; the 
weather being calm I was not sick, except one 
day when it blew pretty hard. I got into 
work the Friday after I came to town, I wrought 
there only eight days, their job being done. I 
got work again in a shop in the Strand, the 
next day after I left my former master. It is 
only a temporary place, but I expect to be 
settled soon in a shop to my mind, although 

it 



382 

it will be a harder task than I at first ima- 
gined, for there are such swarms of fresh hands 
just come from the country that the town is 
quite overstocked, and except one is a parti- 
cularly good workman, (which you know I am 
not, nor I am afraid ever will be) it is hard to 
get a place: However, I don't yet despair to 
bring up my lee-way, and shall endeavour if 
possible to sail within three or four points of 
the wind. The encouragement here is not what 
I expected, wages being very low in proportion 
to the expense of living, but yet, if I can only 
lay by the money that is spent by others in my 
situation in dissipation and riot, I expect soon 
to return you the money I borrowed of you and 
live comfortably besides. 

In the mean time I wish you would send 
up all my best linen shirts to, London, which 
you may easily do by sending them to some 
of your Edinburgh friends, to be shipped from 
Leith. Some of them are too little, don't send 
any but what are good^ and I wish one of my 
sisters could find as much time as to trim my 
shirts at the breast, for there is no such thing to 
be seen here as a plain shirt, even for wearing, 
which is what 1 w ant these for. I mean to get 
one or two new shirts here for Sundays, but I 
assure you that linen here is a very expensive 

article. 



383 

article. I am Qroins: to write to Gilbert to send 
me an Ayrshire cheese; if he can spare it he 
will send it to you, and you may send it with 
the shirts, but I expect to hear from you before 
that time. The cheese I could get here ; but I will 
have a pride in eating Ayrshire cheese in London, 
and the expense of sending it will be little, 
as you are sending the shirts any how. 

I write this by J. Stevenson, in his lodgings, 
while he is writing to Gilbert. He is well and 
hearty, which is a blessing to me as well as 
to him: We were at Covent Garden chapel this 
forenoon, to hear the Calf preach, he is grown 
very fat, and is as boisterous as ever.* There is 
a w^hole colony of Kilmarnock people here, 
so we don't want for acquaintance. 

Remember me to my sisters and all the 
family. I shall give you all the observations 
I have made on London in my next, when I 
shall have seen more of it. 

I am, Dear Brother, yours, Sec. 

W. B. 



No. 



* Vide Poetical Address to The Calf, Dr. Carrie's 
edition, vol. iii. p. 6S. 



384 

No. IV. 
From" Mr. MURDOCH to the BARD, 

OIVING HIM AN ACCOUNT OF THE DEATH OF HIS 
BROTHER WILLIAM. 

Hart' Street, Bloomshury- Square, London, 
September i4th, 1790. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, 

Yours of the i6th of July, I received 
on the ii6th, in the afternoon, per favor of 
my friend Mr. Kennedy, and at the same time 
was informed that your brother was ill. Being 
engaged in business till late that evening, I set 
out next morning to see him, and had thought 
of three or four medical gentlemen of my ac- 
quaintance, to one or other of whom I might 
apply for advice, provided it should be neces- 
sary. But when I went to Mr. Barber's to 
my great astonishment and heart-felt grief, I 
found that my young friend had, on Saturday, 
bid an everlasting farewel to all sublunary 
things. — It was about a fortnight before that he 
had found me out, by Mr. Stevenson's acci- 
dentally calling at my shop to buy something. 
We had only one interview, and that was 

highly 



385 

highly entertaining to me in several respects. 
He mentioned some instruction I had given him 
when very young, to which he said he owed, in 
a great measure, the philanthropy he possessed. 
— He also took notice of my exhorting you 
all, when I wrote, about eight years ago, to 
the man who, of all mankind that I ever knew, 
stood highest in my esteem, " not to let go 
" your integrity." — You may easily conceive 
that such conversation was both pleasing and 
encouraging to me : I anticipated a deal of 
rational happiness from future conversations. 

Vain are our expectations and hopes. 

They are so almost always Perhaps, (nay, 

certainly,) for our good. Were it not for 
disappointed hopes we cpuld hardly spend 
a thought on another state of existence, or 
be in any degree reconciled to the quitting 
of this. 

I know of no one source of consolation to 
those who have lost young relatives equal to 
that of their being of a good disposition, and 
of a promising character. 

* * * ^ f{c ^ 

Be assured, my dear friend, that I cordially 
sympathize with you all, and particularly 
with Mrs. W. Burns, who is undoubtedly one 
of the most tender and affectionate mothers 

that 



386 

that ever lived. Remember me to her in 
the most friendly manner, when you see her, 
or write. Please present my best compli- 
ments to Mrs. R. Burns, and to your bro- 
ther and sisters.- — There is no occasion for 
me to exhort you to filial duty, and to use 
your united endeavours in rendering the even- 
ing of life as comfortable as possible to a 
mother, who has dedicated so great a part of 
it in promoting your temporal and spiritual 
welfare. 

Your letter to Dr. Moore, I delivered at 
his house, and shall most likely know your 
opinion of Zeluco, the first time I meet with 
him. I wish and hope for a long letter. Be 
particular about your mother's health. I hope 
she is too much a Christian to be afflicted above 
measure, or to sorrow as those who have no 
hope. 

One of the most pleasing hopes I have is 
to visit you all ; but I am commonly disap- 
pointed in what I most ardently wish for. 
I am. 

Dear Sir, 

Yours sincerely, 

JOHN MURDOCH. 



POETRY 



D D 



389 



EPISTLES IN VERSE. 



TO J. LAPRAIK. 



Sept. 13th, 1785. 

GuiD speed an' furder to you Johny, 
Guid health, hale han's, an' weather bony ; 
Now when ye' re nickan down fu' cany 

The staff o' bread, 
May ye ne'er want a stoup o' brany 

To clear your head. 

May Boreas never thresh your rigs, 
Nor kick your rickles aff their legs, 
Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs 

Like drivin' wrack ; 
But may the tapmast grain that wags 

Come to the sack. 

nog I'm 



% 



r 



390 

I'm bizzie too, an' skelpin' at it, 
But bitter, daudin showers hae wat it, 
Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it 

Wi' muckle wark. 
An' took my jocteleg* an' whatt it, 

Like ony dark. 

It's now twa month that I'm your debtor, 
For your braw, nameless, dateless letter, 
Abusin' me for harsh ill nature 

On holy men. 
While deil a hair yoursel ye're better, 

But mair profane. 

But let the kirk-folk ring their bells, 
Let's sing about our noble sels ; 
We'll cry nae jads frae heathen hills 

To help, or roose us, 
But browster wives + an' whiskie stills, 

They are the muses. 

Your friendship sir, I winna quat it, 

An' if ye mak' objections at it. 

Then han' in nieve some day we'll knot it, 

An' witness take. 

An' when wi' Usquabae we've wat it 

It winna break. 

But 

* Jocteleg — a knife. 

-f Browster wives — Alehouse wives. 



391 

But If the beast and branks be spar'd 
Till kye be gaun without the herd, 
An' a' the vittel in the yard, 

An' theckit right, 
I mean your ingle-side to guard 

Ae winter night. 

Then muse-inspirin' aqua-vitae 

Shall make us baith sae blythe an' witty, 

Till ye forget ye' re auld an' gatty. 

An' be as canty 
As ye were nine year less than thretty, 

Sweet ane an' twenty ! 

But stooks are cowpet" wi' the blast, 
An' now the sinn keeks in the west. 
Then I maun rin amang the rest 

An' quat my chanter ; 
Sae I subscribe mysel in haste, 

Your's, Rab the Ranter.t 

TO 



* Cozvpet — Tumbled over. 

*f* ^ah the Ranter — It is very probable that the poet 
thus named himself after the Border Piper, so spiritedly 
introduced in the popular song of Maggie Lauder: — 

" For I'm a piper to my trade, 

My name is Rah the Ranter; 
The lasses loup as they were daft, 

When I blaw up my chanter." 



% 



392 



# 



TO THE REV. JOHN M'MATH, 



INCLOSING A COPY OF HOLY WILLIe's PRAYER, 
WHICH HE HAD REQUESTED. 



. Sept, I7th, \7S5. 

While at the stock the shearers cow'r 
To shun the bitter blaudin' show'r, 
Or in gulravage* rinnin scow'r 

To pass the time, 
To you I dedicate the hour 

In idle rhyme. 

My musie, tir'd wi' mony a sonnet 

On gown, an' ban', an' douse black bonnet, 

Is grown right eerie now she's done it. 

Lest they shou'd blame her, 
An' rouse their holy thunder on it 

And anathem her. 

I owA 



* Gulravage — Running in a confused, disorderly man- 
ner, like boys when leaving school. 



393 

I own 'twas rash, an' rather hardy, ^ 

That I, a simple, countra bardie, 
Shou'd meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy, 

Wha, if they ken me, 
Can easy, wi' a single wordie, 

Louse h-U upon me. 

But I gae mad at their grimaces, 

Their sighan, cantan, grace-prood faces, 

Their three-mile prayers, an hauf-mile graces, 

Their raxan conscience, 
Whaws greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces 

Waur nor their nonsense. 

There's Gaun^''^ miska't waur than a beast, 
Wha has mair honor in his breast 
Than mony scores as guid's the priest 

Wha sae abus't him. 
An' may a bard no crack his jest 

What way they've use't him. 

See him,+ the poor man's friend in need. 
The gentleman in word an' deed. 
An' shall his fame an' honor bleed 

By woKhless skellums, 
An' not a muse erect her head 

To cowe the blellums ? 

O Pope, 

* Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 

t The poet has introduced the two first lines of this 
stanza into the dedication of his works to Mr. Hamilton. 



394 

O Pope, had I thy satire's darts 
To gie the rascals their deserts, 
rd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, 

An' tell aloud 
Their jugglin' hocus pocus arts 

To cheat the crowd. 

God knows, I'm no the thing I shou'd be, 
Nor am I even the thing I cou'd be, 
But twenty times, I rather wou'd be 

An atheist clean, 
Than under gospel colors hid be 

Just for a screen. 



An honest man may like a glass, 
An honest man may like a lass, 
But mean revenge, an' malice fause 

He'll still disdain. 
An then cry zeal for gospel laws, 

Like some we ken. 

They take religion in their mouth ; 
They talk o' mercy, grace an' truth. 
For what ? to gie their malice skouth 

On some puir wight, 
An' hunt him down, o'er right an' ruth. 

To ruin streight* 



All 



395 

All hail, reliorlon I maid divine I 
Pardon a muse sae mean as mine, 
Who in her rough imperfect line 

Thus daurs to name thee ; 
To stigmatize false friends of thine 

Can ne'er defame thee. 



Tho' blotch't an' foul wi' mony a Stain, 

An' far unworthy of thy train, 

With trembling voice I tune my strain 

To join with those, 
Who boldly dare thy cause maintain 

In spite of foes : 

In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs. 
In spite of undermining jobs. 
In spite o' dark banditti stabs 

At worth an' merit, 
By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes, 

But hellish spirit. 

O Ayr, my dear, my native ground, 
Within thy presbytereal bound 
A candid lib'ral band is found 

Of public teachers, 
As men, as christians too renown'd 

An' manly preachers. 



Sir, 



396 

Sir, in that circle you are nam'd ; 
Sir, in that circle you are fam'd ; 
An' some, by -whom your doctrine's blam'd 

(Which gies you honor) 
Even Sir, by them your heart's esteem'd, 

An' winning manner. 



Pardon this freedom I have ta'en, 
An' if impertinent I've been. 
Impute it not, good Sir, in ane 

Whaseheartne'erwrang'd ye. 
But to his utmost would befriend 

Ought that belang'd ye. 



To 



397 



To GAVIN HAMILTON, Esg. Matjchline. 

(recommending a boy.) 

Mosgaville, May 3, 1786. 

I HOLD it, Sir, my bounden duty 
To warn you how that Master Tootie, 
Alias, Laird M'Gaun," 
Was here to hire yon lad away 
'Bout whom ye spak the tither day, 

An' wad hae don't afFhan' : 
But lest he learn the callari tricks. 

As faith I muckle doubt him. 
Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks, 
An' tellin lies about them ; 
As lieve then I'd have then, 

Your clerkship he should sair, 
If sae be, ye may be 
Not fitted otherwhere. 

Altho' 



* Master Tootie then lived in Mauchline; a dealer 
in Cows. It was his common practice to cut the nicks or 
markings from the horns of cattle, to disguise their age. — He 
was an artful trick-contriving character ; hence he is call- 
ed a Snick-drawer. In the Poet's " Address to the Deil" 
he styles that august personage an auld^ snick-drawing 
dog ! E. 



398 

Altho' I say't, he's gleg enough, 
An' bout a house that's rude an' rough, 

The boy might learn to swear; 
But then wi' you, he'll be sae taught. 
An' get sic fair example straught, 
I hae na ony fear. 
Ye'll catechise him every quirk. 

An' shore him weel wi' hell ; 

An' gar him follow to the kirk 

— -Ay when ye g2ing yoursel. 
If ye then, maun be then 

Frae hame this comin Friday, 
Then please sir, to lea'e sir, 
The orders wi' your lady. 

My word of honor I hae gien, 

In Paisley John's, that night at e'en, 

To meet the War Id's worm ; 
To try to get the twa to gree, 
An' name the airles''' an' the fee, 

In legal mode an' form : 
I ken he weel a Snick can draw. 

When simple bodies let him ; 
An' if a Devil be at a'. 

In faith he's sure to get him. 
To phrase you an' praise you, 
Ye ken your Laureat scorns : 
The pray'r still, you share still, 
Of grateful Minstrel Burns. 



To 



* The Airles — Earnest money. 



399 



To Mr. M'ADAM, of Craigen-gillan, 

IN ANSWER TO AN OBLIGING LETTER HE SENT IN 
THE COMMENCEMENT OF MY POETIC CAREER. 

Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card, 

I trow it made me proud ; 
See wha taks notice o' the bard ! 

I lap and cry'd fu' loud. 

Now deil-ma-care about their jaw. 

The senseless, gawky million ; 
I'll cock my nose aboon them a', 

I'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan I 



'Twas noble, Sir; 'twas like yoursel, 

To grant your high protection : 
A great man's smile ye ken fu' well. 

Is ay a blest infection. 

Tho', by his * banes wha in a tub 

Match'd Macedonian Sandy ! 
On my ain legs thro' dirt and dub, 

I independent stand ay. — - 

And when those legs to gude, warm kail, 

Wi welcome canna bear me ; 
A lee dyke-side, a sybow-tail, 

And barley-scone shall cheer rae. 

Tho' 

* Diogenes. 



400 

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath 

O' mony flow'ry simmers I 
And bless your bonie lasses baitb, 

I'm tald they* re loosome kimmers ! 

And God bless young Dunaskin's laird, 

The blossom of our gentry I 
And may he wear an auld man's beard, 

A credit to his country. 



401 



To CAPTAIN RIDDEL, Glenriddel. 
(extempore lines on returning a newspaper.) 

EUislandf Monday Evening. 

Your news and review, Sir, Fve read through 
and through, Sir, 

With little admiring or blaming: 
The papers are barren of home-news or foreign, 

No murders or rapes worth the naming. 

Our friends the reviewers, those chippers and 
hewers. 

Are judges of mortar and stone, Sir ; 
But o^meet, or unmeet, in Tifabrick complete^ 

I'll boldly pronounce they are none, Sir. 

My goose-quill too rude is to tell all your good- 
ness 

Bestowed on your servant, the Poet ; 
Would to God I had one like a beam of the sun, 

And then all the world, Sir, should know it I 



To 



402 



To TERRAUGHTY,* on his Birth-Day. 



Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran Chief I 
Health, ay unsour'd by care or grief: 
Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sybil leaf, 

This natal morn. 
I see thy life is stuff o' prief, 

Scarce quite half worn. 

This day thou metes threescore eleven, 
And 1 can tell that bounteous Heaven 
(The second sight, ye ken, is given 

To ilka Poet) 
On thee a tack o' seven times seven 

Will yet bestow it. 

If envious buckles view wi' sorrow 

Thy lengthen'd days on this blest morrow, 

May desolation's lang-teeth'd harrow, 

Nine miles an hour, 
Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, 

In brunstane stoure — 



But 



* Mr. Maxwell, of Terraughty, near Dumfries. 



403 

But for thy friends, and they are mony, 
Baith honest men and lasses bonle, 
May couthie fortune, kind and cannie, 

In social glee, 
Wi' mornings blythe and e'enings funny 

Bless them and thee I 

Fareweel, auld birkie I Lord be near ye, 
And then the Deil he daur na steer ye : 
Your friends ay love, your faes ay fear ye, 

For me, shame fa' me, 
If neist my heart I dinna wear ye 

While Burns they ca' me. 



I 



£ £ 



TO 



404 



To A LADY, 

WITH A PRESENT OF A PAIR OF DRINKING GLASSES. 



JC AIR Empress of the Poet's soul, 

And Queen of Poetesses ; 
Clarinda, take this little boon, 

This humble pair of glasses. — 

And fill them high with generous juice, 

As generous as your mind ; 
And pledge me in the generous toast — 

" The whole of human kind!'' 

*' To those who love us !'' — second fill; 

But not to those whom we love ; 
Lest we love those who love npt us ! 

A third-^" to thee and me, love /", 



MISCELLANEOUS 



MISCELLANEOUS 
POEMS. 



Tragic Fragment. 

In my early years nothing less would 
serve me than courting the tragic Muse. — I was, 
I think, about eighteen or nineteen when I 
sketched the outlines of a tragedy forsooth ; but 
the bursting of a cloud of family misfortunes, 
which had for some time threatened us, prevent- 
ed my farther progress. In those days I never 
wrote down any thing ; so, except a speech or 
two, the whole has escaped my memory. — The 
following, which I most distinctly remember, 
was an exclamation from a great character: — 
great in occasional, instances of generosity, and 
daring at times in villainies. He is supposed to 
meet with a child of misery, and exclaims t© 
himself — 

" All devil as I am, a damned wretch, 

** A harden'd, stubborn, unr^penting villain, 

EE5 *' Still 



406 

" Still my heart melts at human wretchedness ; 
" And with sincere tho' unavailing sighs, 
" I view the helpless children of distress. 
'* With tears indignant I behold th' oppressor 
" Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction, 
" Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime. 
" Even you, ye helpless crew, I pity you ; 
" Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity: 
" Ye poor, despis'd, abandon'd vagabonds, 
'' Whom vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er to ruin. 
— '* O, but for kind, tho' ill-requited friends, 
" I had been driven forth like you forlorn, 
*' The most detested, worthless wretch amons 
you 1" 



THE VOWELS— A Tale. 

'Twas where the birch and sounding thong are 
ply'd, 
The noisy domicile of pedant pride ; 
Where ignorance her darkening vapour throws, 
And cruelty directs the thickening blows ; 
Upon a time. Sir Abece the great. 
In all his pedagogic powers elate, 
His awful chair of state resolves to mounts 
And call the trembling vowels to account.— - 

First 



407 

First enter'd A, a grave, broad, solemn wight, 
But ah ! deform'd, dishonest to the sight ! 
His twisted head look'd backward on his way, 
And flagrant from the scourge he grunted, ai! 

Reluctant, E stalk'd in ; with piteous race 
The justling tears ran down his honest face I 
That name, that well-worn name, and all his 

own, 
Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's throne 1 
The pedant stifles keen the Roman sound 
Not all his mongrel diphthongs can compound; 
And next the title following close behind, 
He to the nameless, ghastly wretch assigned. 

The cobwebM gothic dome resounded, Y I 
In sullen vengeance, I, disdain d reply : 
The pedant swung his felon cudgel round. 
And knock'd the groaning vowel to the ground ! 

In rueful apprehension enter'd O, 
The wailing minstrel of despairing woe ; 
Th* Inquisitor of Spain the most expert, 
Might there have learnt new mysteries of his art ; 
So grim, deform'd, with horrors entering U, 
His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew ! 

As trembling U stood staring all aghast. 
The pedant in his left hand clutch'd him fast. 
In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his right, 
Baptiz'd him eu, and kick'd him from his sight. 



T/ic 



408 

The following sketch seems to he one of a Series intended 
for a projected work, under the title of " The Poet's 
Progress." This character was sent as a specimen, ac- 
companied hy a letter to Professor Dugald Stewart, in 
which it is thus noticed. " The fragment beginning, 
" A little, upright, pert, tart, &c." I have not shewn 
*^ to any man living, 'till I nozv send it to you. It 
*^ forms the postulata, the axioms, the definition of a 
" character, which, if it appear at all, shall be placed 
^' in a variety of lights. This particular part I send you 
" merely as a sample of my hand at portrait sketching.'* 



Sketch. 

A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, 
And still his precious self his dear delight : 
Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets, 
Better than e'er the fairest she he meets. 
A man of fashion too, he made his tour, 
Learn'd vive la bagatelle^ et vive V amour ; 
So traveird monkies their grimace improve, 
Polish their grin, nay sigh for ladies' love. 
Much specious lore but little understood; 
Fineering oft outshines the solid wood : 
His solid sense — by inches you must tell, 
But mete his cunning by the old Scots ell ; 
His meddling vanity, a busy fiend, 
Still making work his selfish craft must mend. 

Scots 



409 



SCOTS PROLOGUE, 

For Mr. Sutherland's Benefit Mght^ Dumfries. 

What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, 
How this new play an' that new sang is comin ? 
Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted ? 
Does nonsense mend like whisky, when imported ? 
Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame, 
Will try to gie us sangs and plays at hame ? 
For comedy abroad he need na toil, 
A fool and knave are plants of every soil ; 
Nor need he hunt as far as Rome and Greece 
To gather matter for a serious piece ; 
There's themes enough in Caledonian story, 
Would shew the tragic muse in a' her glory. — 

Is there no daring bard will rise, and tell 
How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless, fell ? 
Where are the muses fled that could produce 
A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce ; 
How here, even here, he first unsheath'd the 

sivord 
'Gainst mighty England and her guilty lord ; 
And after mony a bloody, deathless doing, 
Wrench'd his dear country from the jaws of ruin ? 
O for a Shakespeare or an Otway scene, 
To draw the loVely, hapless Scottish Queen I 

Vain 



410 

Vain all th' omnipotence of female charms 

'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebellion's arms. 

She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman, 

To glut the vengeance of a rival woman : 

A woman, tho' the phrase may seem uncivil, 

As able and as cruel as the Devil I 

One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page, 

But Douglases were heroes every age : 

And tho' your fathers, prodigal of life, 

A Douglas followed to the martial strife, 

Pt^rhaps if bowls row right, and Right succeeds, 

Ye yet may follow where a Douglas leads I 

As ye hae generous done, if a' the land' 
Would take the muses' servants by the hand ; 
Not only hear, but patronize, befriend them, 
And where ye justly can commend, commend 

them ; 
And aiblins when they winna stand the test, 
Wink hard and say, the folks hae done their best! 
Would a' the land do this, then I'll be caution 
Ye'll soon hae poets o' the Scottish nation, 
Will gar fame blaw until her trumpet crack, 
And warsle time an' lay him on his back ! 

For us and for our stage should ony spier, 
^' Whose aught thae chiels maks a' this bustle 
here?" 

My 



411 

My best leg foremost, I'll set up my brow, 
We have the honor to belong to you ! 
We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like, 
But like good mithers, shore before ye strike. — 
And gratefu' still I hope ye'll ever find us, 
For a' the patronage and meikle kindness 
We've got frae a' professions, setts and ranks : 
God help us I we're but poor — ye'se get but 
thanks. 



An extemporaneous Effusion on being 

APPOINTED to the ExClSE. 

Searching auld wives barrels 

Och, ho ! the day ! 
That clarty barm should stain my laurels ; 

But — what'l ye say ! 
These muvin' things ca'd wives and weans 
Wad muve the very hearts o* stanes ! 



To 



412 



To THE Ovfh—By John M'Creddie."^ 

Sad bird of night, what sorrow calls thee forth, 
To vent thy plaints thus in the midnight hour? 

Is it some blast that gathers in the north, 

Threat'ning to nip the verdure of thy bow'r ? 

Is 



* Bums sometimes wrote poems in the old ballad style, 
which for reasons best known to himself, he gave to the 
world as songs of the olden time. That famous soldier's 
song in particular, first printed in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, 
(Dr, Currie's ed, vol, ii. No. LX.) beginning 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

An' fill it in a silver tassie ; 
That I may drink before I go, 

A service to my bonie lassie ; 

has been pronounced by some of our best living poets 
an inimitable relique of some ancient Minstrel! Yet 
I have discovered it to be the actual production of 
Burns himself. The ballad of Auld lang syne was 
also introduced in this ambiguous manner, though 
there exist proofs that the two best stanzas of it are 
indisputably his; hence there are strong grounds for 
believing this poem also to be his production, notwith- 
standing the evidence to the contrary. It was found among 
his MSS. in his own hand writing, with occasional inter- 
lineations, such as occur in all his primitive effusions. It 
is worthy of his muse ; but it is more in the style of 
Gray or Collins, 
/ ^Should 



413 

Is it, sad owl, that autumn strips the shade, 
And leaves thee here, unsheltered and forlorn ? 

Or fear that winter will thy nest invade ? 
Or friendless melancholy bids thee mourn ? 

Shut out, lone bird, from all the feather'd train, 
To tdl thy sorrows to th' unheeding gloom ; 

No friend to pity when thou dost complain. 
Grief all thy thought, and solitude thy home. 

Sing on sad mourner I I will bless thy strain, 
And pleas'd in sorrow listen to thy song : 

Sing on sad mourner ! to the night complain, 
While the lone echo wafts thy notes along. 

Is beauty less, when down the glowing cheek 
Sad, piteous tears in native sorrows fall ? 

Less kind the heart when anguish bids it break? 
Less happy he who lists to pity's call ? 

Ah no, sad owl I nor is thy voice less sweet, 

That sadness tunes it, and that grief is there;, 
That spring's gay notes, unskill'd, thou canst 
repeat ; 
That sorrow bids thee to the gloom repair : 

Nor 

Should there however, be a real author of the name of 
John M'Creddie, he will not be displeased at the pub- 
lication of his poem, when he recollects that it had obtained 
the notice of Burns, and had undergone his correc- 
tion. E. 



414 

Nor that the treble songsters of the day, 

Are quite estranged, sad bird of night I from 
thee; 

Nor that the thrush deserts the evening spray, 
When darkness calls thee from thy reverie. — 

From some old tow'r, thy melancholy dome, 
While the gray walls and desart solitudes 

Return each note, responsive to the gloom 
Of ivied coverts and surrounding woods ; 

There hooting ; I will list more pleas'd to 
thee, 

Than ever lover to the nightingale ; 
Or drooping wretch, oppress'd with misery. 

Lending his ear to some condoling tale. 



On 



415 

On seeing the beautiful Seat of 
Lord G. 

What dost thou in that mansion fair ? 

FlitG and find 

Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, 

The picture of thy mind ! 



On the Same. 
No Stewart art thou G — 



The Stewarts all were brave ; 
Besides the Stewarts were but Jools^ 
^Not one of them a knave. 



,\ 
On the Same. 

Bright ran thy line O, G 

Thro' many a far-fam'd sire ! 

So ran the far-fam'd Roman way. 
So ended in a mire. 



To THE Same on the Author being 

THREATENED WITH HIS RESENTMENT. 

Spare me thy vengeance, G 

In quiet let me live : 
I ask no kindness at thy hand, 

For thou hast none to give. 

THE 



416 



THE DEAN OF FACULTY. 



A NEW BALLAD. 



Tune— The Dragon of Wantley. 

Dire was the hate at old Harlaw, 

That Scot to Scot did carry ; 
And dire the discord Langside saw. 

For beauteous, hapless Mary : 
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot^ 

Or were more in fury seen, Sir, 
Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job — 

Who should be Faculty's Dean^ Sir. — 



This Hal for genius, wit, and lore, 

Among the first was number'd ; 
But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store, 

Commandment tenth remember'd.— 
Yet simple Bob the victory got. 

And wan his heart's desire ; 
Which shews that heaven can boil the pot, 

Though the devil p — sinlhefire. — 



Squire 



417 

Squire Hal besides had in this case 

Pretensions rather brassy, 
For talents to deserve a place 

Are qualifications saucy ; 
So their worships of the Faculty, 

Quite sick of merit's rudeness, 
Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see, 

To their gratis grace and goodness. — 

As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight 

Of a son of Circumcision, 
So may be, on this Pisgah height, 

Bob's purblind, mental vision ; 
Nay, Bobby s mouth may be open'd yet 

Till for eloquence you hail him, 
And swear he has the Angel met 

That met the Ass of Balaam. — 



Extempore 



41S 



Extempore in the Court of Session. 
Tune, — Gillicrankie. 

Lord A te. 

He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, 

He quoted and he hinted, 
Till in a declamation-mist. 

His argument he tint* it: 
He gaped for't, he graped for 't. 

He fand it was awa, man ; 
But what his xommon sense came short, 

He eked out wi' law, man. 

Mr. Er — NE. 

Collected Harry stood awee. 

Then open'd out his arm, man ; 
His lordship sat wi' ruefu* e'e, 

And ey'd the gathering storm, man : 
Like wind-driv'n hail it did assail, 

Or torrents owre a lin, man ; 
The Bench sae wise lift up their eyes, 

Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man. 

VERSES 

* Tm^— lost. 



419 



VERSES TO J. RAN KEN, 

(The person to whom his Poem en shooting the par- 
tridge is addressed, while Ranken occupied the farm of 
Adamhill, in Ayrshire.) 

Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl, 
Was driving to the tither warP 
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad. 
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad ; 
Black gowns of each denomination, 
And thieves of every rank and station, 
From him that wears the star and garter, 
To him that wintles* in a halter : 
Asham'd himsel to see the wretches, 
He mutters, glow'rin at the bitches, 
" By G-d I'll not be seen behint them, 
" Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them, 
" Without, at least ae honest man, 

" To ffrace this d- — d infernal clan.'* 

By 



* The word Wintle, denotes sudden and involuntary 
motion. In the ludicrous sense in which it is here ap- 
plied, it may be admirably translated by the vulgar London 
expression of Dancing upon nothing. 



F F 



420 



By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
" L— d God !" quoth he, " I have it now, 
'- There's just the man I want, i' faith,'* 
And quickly stoppit Rankeris breath. * 



On hearing that there was falsehood 
IN the Rev. Dr. B 's very looks. 

That there is falsehood in his looks 

I must and will deny : 
They say their master is a knave — 

And sure they do not lie. 



On a Schoolmaster in Cleish Parish, 

FiFESHIRE. 

Here lie Willie M — hie's banes, 

O Satan, when ye tak him, 
Gie him the schulin of your weans ; 

For clever De I LS he'll mak 'em 1 

ADDRESS 



* The first thought of this poem seem* to have been 
suggested by Fahtaff^s account of his ragged recruits 
passing through Coventry ; — 

" 1*11 hot march through Coventry with them, that's flat !" 



421 



ADDRESS TO GENERAL DUMOURIER. 

(a parody on robin ADAIR.) 

You're welcome to Despots, Dumourier ; 
You're welcome to Despots, Dumourier. — 
How does Dampiere do ? 
Aye, and Bournonville too ? 
Why did they not come along with you, 
Dumourier ? 

I will fight France with you, Dumourier, — 
I will fight France with you, Dumourier: — 
I will fight France with you, 
I will take my chance with you ; 
By my soul I'll dance a dance with you, Dumou- 
rier. 

Then let us fight about, Dumourier ; 
Then let us fight about, Dumourier ; 
Then let us fight about, 
'Till freedom's spark is out. 
Then we'll be d-mned no doubt — Dumourier.* 

ELEGY 

* It is ahnost needless to observe that the song of 
Robin Adair, begins thus : — 

You're welcome to Paxton, Robin Adair ; 
YouVe welcome to Paxton, Robin Adair. — 
How does Johnny Mackerell do ? 
Aye, and Luke Gardener too ? 

Why did they not come along with you, Robin Adair ? 
F F 2 



422 

ELEGY 

ON THE YEAR 1788. 

A SKETCH. 



For Lords or kings I dinna mourir, 
E'en let them die— for that they're born r 
But oh I prodigious to reflec' I 
A 7'owmont,* Sirs, is gane to wreck ! 
O Eightt/'eigkt, in thy sma' space 
What dire events ha'e taken place I 
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us I 
In what a pickle thou hast left us ! 

The Spanish empire's tint a head, 
An' my auld teethless Bawtie's dead ; 
The tulzie's sair 'tween Pitt an' Fox, 
And 'tween our Maggie's twa wee cocks ; 
The tane is game, a bluidie devil, 
But to the hen-birds unco civil ; 
The tither's something dour o' treadin, 
But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden — 



Ye 



* A Towmont — A Twelvemontlu 



423 

Ye ministers, come mount the poupit, 
An' cry till ye be haerse an' roupet, 
For Eighti/'eight he wish'd you weel, 
An' gied you a' baith gear an' meal ; 
E'en mony a plack, and mony a peck, 
Ye ken yoursels, for little feck I — 

Ye bonie lasses, dight your e'en. 
For some o' you ha'e tint a frien' ; 
In Eighiy-eight, ye ken, was ta'en 
What ye'll ne'er ha'e to gie again. 

Observe tlie very nowt an' sheep, /' 

How dowf and daviely they creep ; 
Nay, even the yirth itsel does cry, 
For E'nbrugh wells are grutten dry. 

O Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn, 
An no o'er auld, I hope, to learn ! 
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care, 
Thou now has got thy Daddy's chair, 
Nae hand-cuflf'd, mizl'd, hap-shackl'd Regent, 
But, like himsel, a full free agent. 
Be sure ye follow out the plan -\ 

Nae waur than he did, honest man f > 

As muckle better as you can. J 

January 1, 1789. 

VERSES, 



424 



VERSES, 



Written under the portrait of Fergusson, the p^et, in a 
copy of that author's works presented to a young Lady 
in Edinburgh, March \Qth, 1787. 

Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd, 
And yet can starve the author of the pleasure. 
O thou my elder brother in misfortune, 
By far my elder brother in the muses, 
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate I 
Why is the bard unpitied by the world, 
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures?* 



* This apostrophe to Fergusson, bears a striking affinity 
to one in Burns's poems. Dr. Curriers edition^ vol. III. 
p. 248. 

O Fergusson ! thy glorious parts 

111 suited lavv^s dry musty arts ! 

My curse upon your whunstane hearts, 

Ye E'nbrugh gentry ! 
The tythe o' what ye waste at Cartes 

Wad stow'd his pantjry ! 

This was written before 3ums visited the Scottish 
capital. Even without a poet*s susceptibility we may feel 
how this prophetic parallel of Fergusson's case with his 
own must have pressed on the memory of our bard, 
when he paid this second tribute of affection to his elder 
brother in misfortune, E. 



SONGS 

AND 



BALL AD S. 



427 



SONGS, fee. 



EVAN BANKS. 

Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires. 
The sun from India's shore retires ; 
To Evan Banks, with temp' rate ray, 
Home of my youth, he leads the day. 
Oh banks to me for ever dear I 
Oh streams whose murmurs still I hear ! 
All, all my hopes of bliss reside 
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde. 

And she, in simple beauty drest. 
Whose image lives within my J3reast ; 
Who trembling heard my parting sigh, 
And long pursued me with her eye ; 
Does she, with heart unchang'd as mine, 
Oft in the vocal bowers recline? 
Or where yon grot o'erhangs the tide, 
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde ? 

Ye lofty banks that Evan bound I 
Ye lavish woods that wave around, 



And 



428 

And o'er the stream your shadows throw, 
Which sweetly winds so far below ; 
What secret charm to mem'ry brings, 
All that on Evan*s border springs; 
Sweet banks ! ye bloom by Mary's side : 
Blest stream 1 she views thee haste to Clyde. 

Can all the wealth of India's coast 
Atone for years in absence lost ? 
Return, ye moments of delight, 
With richer treasures bless my sight ! 
Swift from this desart let me part, 
And fly to meet a kindred heart I 
Nor more may ought my steps divide 
From that dear stream which flows to Clyde. 



SONG. 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; 
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever I 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee. 
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. 
Who shall say that fortune grieves him 
While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
Me, nae chearfu' twinkle lights me ; 
Dark despair around benights me. 

I'll 



429 

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naething could resist my Nancy: 
But to see her, was to love her ; 
Love but her, and love for ever. 
Had we never lov'd sae kindly, 
Had we never lov'd sae blindly, 
Never met — or never parted, 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest I 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure I 
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, 
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. 



SONG. 

PATRiOTi c — unfinished. 



Here's a health to them that's awa. 
Here's a health to them that'^ awa ; 
And wha winna wish gude luck to our cause, 
May never gude luck be their fa'* I 

les 



* Fa'— lot. 



430 

It*s gude to be merry and wise, ' 

It's gude to be honest and true, 

It's gude to support Caledonia's cause, 

And bide by the bufFand the blue. 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa ; 

Here's a health to Charlie, the chief o' the clan, 

Altho' that his band be sma'. 

May liberty meet wi' success I 

May prudence protect her frae evil ! 

May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, 

And wander their way to the devil ! 

Here's a health to them that's awa. 

Here's a health to them that's awa. 

Here's a health to Tammie, the Norland laddie, 

That lives at the lug o' the law ! 

Here's freedom to him, that wad read, 

Here's freedom to him, that wad write I 

There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be 

heard. 
But they wham the truth wad Indite. 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa. 

Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a Chieftain worth gowd, 

Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw I 

ti Ki * >i: 

SONG 



431 



SONG. 



Now bank an' brae are claith'd in green 

An' scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring, 
By Girvan's fairy haunted stream 

The birdies flit on wanton wing. 
To Cassillis' banks when e'ening fa's. 

There wi' my Mary let me flee, 
There catch her ilka glance of love 

The bonie blink o' Mary's e'e ! 

The child wha boasts o' warld's walth, 

Is aften laird o' meikle care ; 
But Mary she is a' my ain, 

Ah, fortune canna gie me mair ! 
Then let me range by Cassillis' banks, 

Wi' her the lassie dear to me. 
And catch her ilka glance o' love, 

The bonie blink o' Mary's e'e ! 



THE 



432 



THE BONIE LAD THATS FAR AWA. 

O HOW can I be blythe and glad, 
Or how can I gatig brisk and braw, 

When the bonie lad that I lo'e best 
Is o'er the hills and far awa? ' 

Its no the frosty winter wind, 

Its no the driving drift and snaw ; 
But ay the tear comes in my e'e, 

To think on him that's far awa. 

My father pat me frae his door. 

My friends they hae disown'd me a' . 

But I hae ane will tak my part, 
The bonie lad that's far awa. 

A pair o' gloves he gave to me. 

And silken snoods * he gave me twa ; 

And I will wear them for his sake, 
The bonie lad that's far awa. 

G G The 



* Ribbands for binding the hair. 



433 

The weary winter soon will pass, 

And spring will cleed the birken-shaw ; 

And my sweet babie will be born, 
And he'll come hame that's far awa. * 



* I have heard the country girls, in the Merse and Te- 
viotdale, sing a song, the first stanza of which greatly re- 
sembles the opening of this, 

O how can I be blythe or glad 

Or in my mind contented be, 
When he's far afF that I love best, 

And banish'd frae my company. E. 



SONG: 



434 



SONG* 



Out over the Forth I look to the north, 

But what is the north and its Highlands to me? 

The south nor the east gie ease to my breast, 
The far foreign land, or the wild rolling sea- 

But I look to the west, when I gae to rest, 

That happy my dreams and my slumbers may 
be; 

For far in the west lives he I lo'e best, 
The lad that is dear to my babie and me. 



LINES ON A PLOUGHMAN. 

As I was a wand' ring ae morning in spring, 
I heard a young Ploughman sae sweetly to sing, 
And as he was singin' thir words he did say. 
There's nae life like the Ploughman in the 
month o' sweet May — 

The 



* Of this exquisite ballad the last verse only is printed 
in Dr* Currie's Edition — He did not know that the open- 
ing stanza existed. E. 



435 

The lav'rock in the morning she'll rise frae her 

nest. 
And mount to the air wi' the dew on her breast,* 
And wi' the merry Ploughman she'll whistle and 

sing, 
And at nisiht she'll return to her nest backao;ain. 

TLL 



* It is pleasing to mark those touches of sympathy 
which shew the sons of genius to be of one kindred. — In 
the following passage from the poem of his countryman, 
the same figure is illustrated with characteristic simplicity ; 
and never were the tender and the sublime of poetry more 
happily united, nor a more affectionate tribute paid to the 
memory of Burns. 

-" Thou, simple bird, 



" Of all the vocal quire, dwelFst in a home 
" The humblest ; yet thy morning song ascends 
" Nearest to Heaven ; — sweet emblem of his song,-!? 
" Who sung thee wakening by the daisy's side !" 

Grahame's Birds of Scotland, vol. ii. p. iv. 

f Burns. 



G G I'LL 



436 



FLL AY CA' IN BY YON TOWN. 

I'll ay ca' in by yon town, 

And by yon garden green, again ; 

I'll ay ca' in by yon town, 
And see my bonie Jean again. 

There's nane sail ken, there's nane sail guess. 

What brings me back the gate again, 
But she my fairest faithfu' lass, 

And stownlins "^^ we sail meet again. 

She'll wander by the aiken tree, 

When trystin-timef draws near again ; 

And when her lovely form I see, 
O haith, she's doubly dear again I 

WHISTLE 



* Stownlim — By stealth. 

•f- Trystin-time — ^The time of appointment. 



437 



WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T. 

First when Maggy was my care, 
Heaven, I thought, was in her air ; 
Now we're married — spier nae mair — 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. — 
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
Bonie Meg was nature's child — 
— Wiser men than ine's beguil'd ; 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 

How we live, my Meg and me, 
How we love and how we 'gree, 
I care na by how few may see ; 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. — 
Wha I wish were maggot's meat, 
Dish'd up in her winding sheet, 
I could write — but Meg maun see't — 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. — 



G G 2 YOUNG 



438 



YOUNG JOCKEY. 

Young Jockey was the blythest lad 

In a' our town or here awa ; 
Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud,'*" 

Fu' lightly danc'd he in the ha' ! 
He roos'd my e'en sae bonie blue, 

He roos'd my waist sae genty sma ; 
An' ay my heart came to my mou, 

When ne'er a body heard or saw. 

My Jockey toils upon the plain, 

Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw ; 
And o'er the lee I leuk fu' fain 

When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'. 
An' ay the night comes round again, 

When in his arms he taks me a' ; 
An' ay he vows he'll be my ain 

As lang's he has a breath to draw. 

MCPHERSON'S 



* The Gaud-^VLt the Plough. 



439 



MCPHERSON'S FAREWEL. 

Farewel ye dungeons dark and strong, 

The wretch's destinie I 
M'Pherson's time will not be long. 

On yonder gallows tree. 

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 

Sae dauntingly gaed he ; 
He play d a spring and dancd it round, 

Below the gallows tree. 

Oh, what is death but parting breath ? — 

On mony a bloody plain 
I've dar'd his face, and in this place 

I scorn him yet again ! 

Sae rantingly, &c. 

Untie these bands from off my hands,* 

And bring to me my sword ; 
And there's no a man in all Scotland, 

But I'll brave him at a word. 

Sae rantingly, &c. 



I've 



* See the 2d verse of the ballad of Hughie Graham, 
p. 287. 



440 

I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife ; 

I die by treacherie : 
It burns my heart I must depart 

And not avenged be. 

Sae raniingly, &c. 

Now farewel light, thou sunshine bright. 

And all beneath the sky ! 
May coward shame distain his name, 

The wretch that dares not die 1 

Sae rantinglr/^ ire 



SONG. 

Here's, a bottle and an honest friend I 

What wad ye wish for mair, man ? 
Wha kens, before his life may end, 

What his share may be of care, man. 
Then catch the moments as they fly, 

And use them as ye ought, man : — 
Believe me, happiness is shy, 

And comes not ay when sought, man. 

SONG. 



441 

SONG. 

Tune — Braes o' Balquhidder. 

ril kiss thee yet, yet. 

An ril kiss thee o'er again, 

An III kiss thee yet, yet, 
My bonie Peggy Alison ! 

Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, 
I ever mair defy them, O ; 

Young kings upon their hansel throne 
Are no sae blest as I am, O ! 

ril kiss thee, &c. 

When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 
I clasp my countless treasure, O ; 

I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share. 
Than sic a moment's pleasure, O ! 
I'll kiss thee, &c. 

And by thy e'en, sae bonie blue, 
I swear I'm thine for ever, O !— 

And on thy lips I seal my vow, 
And break it shall I never, O I 
I'll kiss tlue, &c. 



SONG. 



442 



SONG.* 



Tune — If he be a Butcher neat and trim. 



On Cessnock banks there lives a lass, 
Could I describe her shape and mien ; 

The graces of her weelfar'd face, 

And the glancin* of her sparklin* e'en. 

She's fresher than the morning dawn 
When rising Phoebus first is seen, 

When dewdrops twinkle o'er the lawn ; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. 

She's stately like yon youthful ash, 
That grows the cowslip braes between. 

And shoots its head above each bush ; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. 



Her 



* This song was an early production. It was re- 
covered by the Editor from the oral communication of a 
lady residing at Glasgow, whom the Bard in early life 
affectionately admired. 



443 

She's spotless as the flow'ring thorn 

With flow'rs so white and leaves so green, 

When purest in the dewy morn ; 

An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. 

Her looks are like the sportive lamb, 
When flow'ry May adorns the scene, 

That wantons round its bleating dam ; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. 

Her hair is like the curling mist 

That shades the mountain side at e'en, 

When flow'r-reviving rains are past; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. 

Her forehead's like the show'ry bow, 
When shining sunbeams intervene 

And gild the distant mountain's brow ; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. 

Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush 
That sings in Cessnock banks unseen, 

While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. 

Her lips are like the cherries ripe, 
That sunny walls from boreas screen, 

They tempt the taste and charm the sight ; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. * 

Her 



444 

Her teeth are like a flock of sheep, 
With fleeces newly washen clean. 

That slowly mount the rising steep ; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. 

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze 
That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, 

When Phoebus sinks behind the seas ; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin e'en. 

But it's not her air, her form, her face, 
Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen, 

But the mind that shines in ev'ry grace 
An chiefly in her sparklin' e'en. 



WAE IS MY HEART. 



Wae is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e ; 
Lang, lang joy's been a stranger to me : 
Forsaken and friendless my burden I bear, 
And the sweet voice o* pity ne'er sounds in my 
ear. 

Love 



445 

Love thou hast pleasures ; and deep hae I loved ; 
Love thou hast sorrows ; and sair hae I proved : 
But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my 

breast, 
I can feel by its throbbings will soon be at rest. 

O if I were, where happy I hae been ; 
Down by yon stream and yon bonie castle green : 
For there he is wand'ring and musing on me, 
Wha wad soon dry the tear frae his Phillis's e'e. 



FRAGMENT. 



Her flowing locks, the raven's wing, 
Adown her neck and bosom hing ; 

How sweet unto that breast to cling, 
And round that neck entwine her I 

Her lips are roses wat wi' dew, 
O, what a feast, her bonie mou ! 

Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 
A crimson still diviner. 



BALLAD. 



446 



BALLAD. 



To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains, 
Where late wi' careless thought I rang'd, 

Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe, 
To thee I bring a heart unchang'd. — 

I love thee Nith, thy banks and braes, 
Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear ; 

For there he rov'd that brake my heart 
Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear I 



FRAGMENT. 



The winter it is past, and the simmer comes at 
last, 

And the small birds sing on every tree ; 
Now every thing is glad while I ani very sad, 

Since my true love is parted from me. 

The rose upon the brier by the waters running 
clear, 
May have charms for the linnet or the bee ; 
Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts 
at rest. 
But my true love is parted from me. 

SONG. 



447 
SONG. 

Tune — Banks of Banna, 

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 

A place where body saw na' ; 
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 

The gowden locks of Anna. 
The hungry Jew in wilderness 

Rejoicing o'er his manna, 
Was naething to my hinny bliss 

Upon the lips of Anna. 

Ye monarchs tak the east and west. 

Frae Indus to Savannah I 
Gie me within my straining grasp 

The melting form of Anna. 
There I'll despise imperial charms, 

An Empress or Sultana, 
While dying raptures in her arms 

I give and take with Anna I 

Awa thou flauntino; aod o' dav I 

Awa thou pale Diana I 
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray 

When I'm to meet my Anna. 
Come, in thy raven plumage, night, 

Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a' ; 
And bring an angel pen to write 

My transports wi' my Anna I 



SONG. 



448 



SONG* 

The Deil cam fiddling thro' the town, 
And danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman ; 

And ilka wife cry'd, " Auld Mahoun, 
" We wish you luck o' the prize man. 

" We'll mak our maut^ and hrew our drink, 
" We'll dance and sing and rejoice man; 

" And mony thanks to the muckle black Deil, 
*' That dancdawa m' the Exciseman* 

" There's tlrreesome reels, and foursome reels, 
*' There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; 

'' But the ae best dance e'er cam to our Ian*, 
*' Was — the Deil's awa wi' the Exciseman, 

" We'll mak our rjiaut, &c.'' 

SONG. 



* At a meetuig of his brother Excisemen in Dumfries, 
Burns being called upon for a Song, handed these verses 
extempore to the President, written on the back of a 
letter. 



449 



SONG. 

Powers celestial, whose protection 

Ever guards the virtuous fair, 
While in distant climes I wander, 

Let my Mary be your care : 
Let her form sae fair and faultless, 

Fair and faultless as your own ; 
Let my Mary's kindred spirit, 

Draw your choicest influence down. 

Make the gales you waft around her, 

Soft and peaceful as her breast ; 
Breathing in the breeze that fans her, 

Sooth her bosom into rest : 
Guardian angels, O protect her, 

When in distant lands I roam ; 
To realms unknow^n while fate exiles me, 

Make her bosom still my home.* 

HUNTING 



* Probably written on Highland Mary, on the eve of 
the poet's departure to the West ladies. 



450 



HUNTING SONG. 



I red you beware at the hunting. 

The heather was blooming, the meadows were 

mawn, 
Our lads gaed a hunting, ae day at the dawn, 
O'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen. 
At length they discovered a bonie moor-hen. 

I red you beware at the huntings youngmen; 
I red you beware at the huntings young men ; 
Tak some on the wing, and some as they spring, 
But cannily steal on a bonie moor-hen. 

Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather 

bells, 
Her colors betray'd her on yon mossy fells ; 
Her plumage outlustred the pride o' the spring, 
And O I as she wantoned gay on the wing. 

/ red, &c. 

Auld 



451 

Auld Phoebus himsel, as he peep'd o'er the 

hill ; 
In spite at her plumage he tryed his skill ; 
He levell'd his rays where she bask'd on the 

brae — 
His rays were outshone, and but mark'd where 

she lay. 

/ red^ &c. 

They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill ; 
The best of our lads wi' the best o' their skill ; 
But still as the fairest she sat in their sight. 
Then, whirr I she was over, a mile at a flight. — 

/ red, &c. 



YOUNG PEGGY. 



Young Peggy blooms our boniest lass. 

Her blush is like the morningr, 
The rosy dawn, the springing grass, 

With early gems adorning ; 
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams 

That gild the passing shower, 
And g^litter o'er the crystal streams, 

And cheer each fresh'nino; flower. 

H H Her 



432 

Her lips more than the cherries bright, 

A richer die has grac'd them, 
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight 

And sweetly tempt to taste them : 
Her smile is as the ev'ning mild. 

When feather'd pairs are courting, 
And little lambkins wanton wild, 

In playful bands disporting. 

Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe, 

Such sweetness would relent her, 
As blooming spring unbends the brow 

Of surly, savage winter. 
Detraction's eye no aim can gain 

Her winning pow'rs to lessen : 
And fretful envy grins in vain, 

The poison'd tooth to fasten. 

Ye pow'rs of Honor, Love, and Truth, 

From ev'ry ill defend her ; 
Inspire the highly favor'd youth 

The destinies intend her ; 
Still fan the sweet connubial flame 

Responsive in each bosom ; 
Arid bless the dear parental name 

With many a filial blossom.* 

SONG. 

* This was one of the poet's earliest compositions. It is 
copied from a MS. book, which he had before his first 
publication. 



453 

SONG. 

Tune — The King of France ^ he rade a Race, 

Amang the trees where humming bees 

At buds and flowers were hinging, O 
Auld Caledon drew out her drone, 

And to her pipe was singing; O 
'Twas Pibroch,* sang, strathspey, or reels. 

She dirl'd them aff, fu' clearly, O 
When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels, 

That dang her tapsalteerie, O — 

Their capon craws and queer ha ha's, 

They made our lugs grow eerie, O 
The hungry bike did scrape and pike 

'Till we were wae and weary ; O^^ — 
But a royal ghaist wha ance was cas'd 

A prisoner aughteen year awa, 
He fir'd a fiddler in the North 

That dang them tapsalteerie, O. 



* Pibroch — A Highland war song, adapted to the bag- 
pipe. 

FINIS. 



J. M'Creery, Printer, Fleet-Street. 



THE 

PROCESSION 

OF 

CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 

TO 

CANTERBURY. 

PROPOSALS FOR PUBLISHING BY SUBSCRIPTION^ 

A PRINT, 

FROM THE WELL KNOWN 

CABINET PICTURE, PAINTED FROM THIS 
SUBJECT, 

BY THOMAS STOTHARD, ESQ. R. A. 

TO BE 
ENGRAVED IN THE LINE MANNED, 

BY LOUIS SCHIAVONETTI, ESQ. V. A. 



His legends blithe 
He sang of love or knighthood, or the wiles 
Of homely life ; thro' each estate and age 
The fashions and the follies of the world 
With cunning hand portraying. Akenside» 



1 HE reputation of Chaucer, the reformer of the English 
language, and the father of Enghsh poetry, may, without 
presumption, be thought to justify the Proprietor in pre- 
senting the Pubhc with a work designed to bring together, 
in one point of view, and to represent, in their true forms, 
living features, and adventitious appendages, all the charac- 
ters of the Canterbury Tales. 

In 



In justice to such a subject, the painter ought to possess all 
the powers of description and embellishment ; all the satire, the 
genuine humour, the knowledge of life and manners, for each 
of which the original is so eminently distinguished. " We 
see," to adopt the expressive language of Dryden, " all the 
Pilgrims, their humours, their features, and their very dress, 
as distinctly as if we had supped with them at the Tabard, 
in Southwark/' — In another passage of the preface to the 
Fables, he says, — '' He must have been a man of most won- 
derful comprehensive nature, because, as it has been truly 
observed of him, he has taken into the compass of his Can- 
terbury Tales, the various manners and humours of the whole 
English nation, in his age. All his Pilgrims are severally 
distinguished from each other, not only in their inclinations, 
but in their very physiognomies and persons. The matter 
and manner of their Tales, and their telling, are so suited to 
their different educations, humours, and callings, that each 
of them would be improper in any other mouth. Even the 
grave and serious characters are distinguished by their seve- 
ral sorts of gravity: their discourses are such as belong to 
their age, their calling, and their breeding ; such as are be- 
coming of them, and them only. The Reve, the Miller, and 
the Cook, are several men, and distinguished from each 
other, as much as the mincing Lady Prioress, and the broad- 
speaking Wife of Bath." 

The scheme of this Work is in every respect very extraor- 
dinary, as will best appear from a short representation of the 
Author's design, as explained by Mr. Tyrwhitt, in his pre- 
face. '' Chaucer pretends, that intending to pay his devo- 
tions at the shrine of Thomas a Becket, he set up his horse at 
the Tabard Inn, in Southwark; that he found at the Inn a 
number of Pilgrims, who severally proposed the same journey ; 
and that they all agreed to sup together, and to set out the 
next morning on the same party. The supper being finished, 
the landlord, a fellow of sense and drollery, conformably to 
his character and calling, makes them no disagreeable pro- 
posal, that, to divert them on their journey,, each of them 
should be obliged to tell two stories, one going, the other 
coming back; and that whoever, in the judgment of the 
company, should succeed best in this art of Tale-telling, by 
way of recompence, at their return to his Inn, should be en- 
titled to a good supper at the common cost ; which proposal 
assented to, he promises to be their governor and guide." 

The Scene of the Picture is laid in that part of the road 
to Canterbury which commands a view of the Dulwich 
Hills — the Time — a beautiful and serene May morning. 
The Pilgrims are grouped with a decorum suited to their 



respective characters, and in the order in which we may 
suppose Chaucer himself to have seen them, headed by the 
Miller playing upon his pipe, under the guidance of Harry 
Baillie, the Host ; who, as Master of the Ceremonies, is repre- 
sented on horseback, standing in his stirrups, in the act of 
commanding attention to the proposal he is about to make, 
of drawing lots to determine which of the company shall 
tell the first Tale. Near to him is a line of five characters 
— the Knight; his Son, the Young Squire; the Franklin, or 
Country Gentleman ; the Serjeant at Law, the Merchant, and 
the Doctor of Physic. The Squire is mounted on a White 
Horse near the Knight, and betwixt these two figures is seen 
the Reve. Close behind the Squire his Yeoman advances, 
habited in green. The front of the next Group is also 
composed of five characters — The Lady Abbess ; her Nun ; 
the Nun's Priest; the Good Parson; and his Brother, the 
Ploughman. The figures immediately behind the Lady Abbess 
are, the Shipman; the Oxford Scholar; the Manciple, and 
Chaucer.^ Next, mounted upon an ambling Nag, approaches 
the Wife of Bath, heading a group of four figures : — She is 
represented in brisk conversation with the Monk and the 
Friar ; behind them are the Pardoner, dressed in blue, and 
his friend the Sompnour, in white. 

The last group of this motley Cavalcade is composed of the 
Goldsmith, the Weaver, the Haberdasher, the Dyer, and the 
Tapestry Merchant, all citizens of London, attended by their 
Cook : with these jolly Pilgrims the Procession closes. 

It will he- nccpssary to assurc the Public, that the Artist 
has not allowed himself a capricious licence in his treatment 
of the Dresses. So far from it, they have been adopted with 
the nicest fidelity from the best authorities ; from the British 
Museum, and other Public Depositories of rare MSS. • from 
Monumental Remains ; from the authority of Chaucer him- 
self ; and from ancient Illuminated Manuscripts, painted in 
his time. 

The Proprietor of this undertaking finds it difficult to 
express his own and the general sense of Mr. Stothard's 
qualifications, without violating that admirable Artist's 
known reserve and modesty of nature. He cannot, how- 
ever, resist the gratification of transcribing a letter which 
appeared in the periodical paper called " The Artist," 
addressed to Richard Cumberland, Esq. the celebrated Dra- 
matic Writer, by Mr. Hoppner, a gentleman, who is himself 
of the first eminence in his professional capacity of an His- 
torical and Portrait painter. 

* The Portrait of Chaucer is painted from that in the British Mu- 
seum, done by Thomas Occleve, who lived in his time, and was his 
scholar. 



May 30, 1807. 
Dear Sir, 

You desire me to give you some account of the Procession of 
Chaucer's Pilgrims, painted hy Stothard, and the task is a 
pleasant one; for the praise called forth hy the merits of a 
living artist, from a rival in the pursuit of fame, is, I feel, 
like mercy, twice blessed — 

" It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes." 

The Painter has chosen that moment for his Picture when the 
Pilgrims may he supposed to have disengaged themselves from 
the multitude that bustle in the environs of a great metropolis, 
and are collected together by Harry Baillie, their guide and host. 
The scene is therefore laid in that part of their road from 
London that commands a view of the Duhuich hills, where, 
it may be supposed, the Host could, without fear of interruption, 
proclaim his proposal of drawing lots, to determine ivho should 
tell the first tale. He is represented standing in his stirrups, 
and appears to exult in the plan he has formed for their mutual 
entertainment. You see the group gently pacing forward — all 
are in motion,— yet too well satisfied with each other to be eager 
for their journey s end. , The features of each individual are 
touched with the most happy discrimination of character, and 
prove the painter to have studied the human heart with as much 
attention, and not less successfully, than the Poet. 

This intelligent group is rendered still more interesting by 
the charm of colouring, which, though simple, is strong, and 
most harmoniously distributed throughout the picture. The 
landscape has a deep-toned hris:htness, that accords most admi- 
rably with the figures : and the painter has ingeniously contrived 
to give a value to a common scene and very ordinary forms, 
that would hardly be found, by unlearned eyes, in the natural 
objects. He has expressed too, with great vivacity and truth, 
the freshness of morning, at, that season, when nature herself 
is most fresh and blooming^^the Spring; and it requires no 
great stretch of fancy to imagine we perceive the influence of it 
on the cheeks of the Fair Wife of Bath, and her rosy compa- 
nions, the Monk and Friar. 

In respect of the execution of the various parts of this plea- 
sing design, it is not too much praise to say, that it is ivholly 
free from that vice ivhich the painters term manner ; and it haS 
this peculiarity beside, which I do not remember to have seen 
in any picture ancient or modeim, that it bears no mark of the 
period in which it was painted, but might very well pass for 
the work of some able artist of the titne of Chaucer. This 
eject is not, J believe, the result of any association of ideas 
connected with the costume, but appears in a primitive simplicity. 



and the total absence of all affectation, either of colour or pen- 
cilling. 

Having attempted to describe a few of the beauties of this 
captivating performance, it remains only for me to mention one 
^reat defect — The picture is, notwithstanding appearances, a 
modern one. But if you can divest yourself of the general 
prejudice that exists against contemporary talents, you will see 
a work that would have done honour to any school, at any 
period. 

I am, Dear Sir, 8fc. 
To Richard Cumberland, Esq. JOHN HOPPNER. 



CONDITIONS OF SUBSCRIPTION. 

The Picture is S Feet 1 Inch long, and lOi Inches high. The Print will 
1)6 executed exactly of the same size. The price of the Prints will 
be Three Guineas, Proof Impressions, Five Guineas. Gentlemen who 
wish to possess this Engraving, are requested to forward their address 
to Mr. Cromek, No. 64, Newman Street, London ; and as the number 
of Proof Impressions will be limited, an early application is indis« 
pensabie. 

The Subscribers to this Print will be presented with an engraved 
Portrait of 3Ir. Stothard, executed by Mr. Schiavonetti, in the same 
excellent style as the subject itself, from a capital original Picture, 
painted by John Hoppner, Esq. R. A. and by that gentleman oblig- 
ingly contributed for this purpose. 



BLAKE'S 



I I 



BLAKE'S ILLUSTRATIONS OF BLAIR. 



Just^uhlished by Messrs. Cadell and Davies, elegantly printed in 
imperial quarto, hy Bensley, price 21. 125. ^d, in extra boards, 

THE GRAVE, 

A POEM, BY ROBERT BLAIR. 

Illustrated by 12 Prints, exquisitely engraved by Louis 
ScHiAVONETTi, from the original inventions of William 
Blake. 

With an introductory Preface to the Designs, by Henry 
FusELi, Esa. R. A. Keeper of the Royal Academy. 



The Subjects that compose this Volume. 

I. The descent of Christ into the Grave. 

II. The descent of Man into the Vale of Death. 

III. Death's Door. 

IV. The strong and wicked Man Dying. 

V. The Good old Man Dying. 

VI. The Soul reluctantly parting with the Body. 

VII. The Soul exploring the recesses of the Grave. 

VIII. The Counseller, King. Warrior, Mother, and Child in 
the Tomb. 

IX. The Skeleton re-animated on the sound of the Archangel's 

Trumpet. 

X. The re-union of Soul and Body. 
XL A Family meeting in Heaven, 
XII. The last Judgment. 

A very few Copies of this unique and classical work have 
been printed on large Paper, with Proof Impressions of the 
Plates. — Price Four Guineas. 



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